


These Violent Delights

by beep (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/beep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your best bro's a vampire and is constantly engaging you in fisticuffs, your relationship starts to get a little bit twisted.</p><p>(NOTE: This is the first fic I ever wrote and published. It was written in 2015 while I was very, very sick. It's badly written and was extremely rushed. Please don't expect anything good out of this. It's only still up for transparency reasons. Thanks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you never asked to be pinned beneath your best friend, his fangs fuck deep in your neck.

That doesn’t mean you didn’t want it, though.

You’ve been friends with Jake English since you were twelve, which makes it eight years from the day you met on the Neopets forums. You’ve kind of been through a lot together, even though for the majority of your friendship, he lived on an island in the middle of fuck knows where while you sat your sweet ass in Texas, wishing he was with you.

You’ve only been in love with him for three years, but when you’re infatuated with a boy who’s… well, completely oblivious, it seems to stretch out a lot longer than that.

When Jake told you about his upcoming move to Texas – “All the better to see you, chum!” he’d quipped after he’d dropped the bomb – you were shocked. Not surprised, but pretty goddamn shocked. There was pretty much no good reason for him to move down here specifically. It would probably be hell for a guy like him; for as long as you’d known him, he’d loved his alone time and his entire island all to himself.  You later warned him that Texas had not only one, but several people in it, and to your surprise he just laughed you off.

Still, you were happy. His reasoning, to your endless (secret) excitement, was to be closer to his friends and to acclimatise to the inevitability of having to be around people instead of a bunch of messed up giant mutated creatures. He hadn’t always expressed interest in moving away from his island. In fact, up until about a year ago you would’ve thought he was very comfortable there. But then one night he called you and fuck, _fuck_ , he was so sick of the beasts and sick of the running and sick of the goddamned “adventures” and he just wanted out of that place.

So he’d planned it all out, pinched some more of his dead grandmother’s money, packed up all his blue lady posters and moseyed on over to Texas. He’d actually gotten his shit together surprisingly quickly, faster than you thought was possible for a guy like Jake. He’d moved into his apartment about twenty minutes’ drive away from yours, gotten a job at one of the local restaurants as a waiter, and actually gotten himself some kind of life together. You can’t say you’re not proud of him, and neither can your mutual best friends, Roxy and Jane. And since the move only happened a couple weeks ago, you haven’t had much time to hang out with him alone.

Until tonight.

He’d contacted you at around one, asking you if you wanted to go see the latest action flick. Of course, you put up a fight at first, but you both knew you’d end up seeing it with him. And that you did, muttering into Jake’s ear through the entire film just to see him glare at you and sometimes laugh. God, that laugh.

After the movie, you’d hung around town for a little while, then decided to head back to Jake’s apartment and play video games there. Things had gotten heated between the two of you when you defeated him for probably the thirtieth time in Mario Kart, and then he’d leaped on top of you for fisticuff purposes and then he’d taken your glasses and then he’d stared you down and then he’d pressed his lips, his teeth to your neck and that’s where you are now, underneath this boy from the wild with his fangs piercing your neck and his fists clutching your shirt, and all you can say is that god fucking damn it, that feels good.

Logic isn’t really coming into your head right now. Logic’s just fucked right off out the window and you’re lying beneath your best friend who is also a monster and who is unabashedly sucking the blood right out of your neck.

He’s pretty rough with you, his fangs – his fucking fangs, how did you not notice? – piercing you fast and hard and his tongue lapping at the puncture wounds as soon as those sharp teeth come back out of you. You hear yourself begin to groan and stop right in your goddamn tracks because what the fuck, Dirk Strider, you’re not getting turned on by this. No, you’re not.

However, Jake seems to have heard the noise you couldn’t stop from coming out and returns the gesture, moaning softly into the skin of your neck like you’re something fucking delectable. Your arms are at your sides and you have no goddamn clue what to do with them. Are you meant to pull him closer? He seems pretty happy where he is, with one hand bunching the fabric at your chest and the other at your hip. Should you stroke his hair? That would just be downright affectionate. You’re not sure whether sucking one’s blood is actually an affectionate gesture. Shit, what if you’re supposed to struggle? You really, really don’t want him to stop, but making some kind of movement probably the most logical thing to do…

Jake makes a sudden noise and twitches a little – his hips bump into yours and you try really, really hard not to think about that – and slowly, he pulls himself away from your neck, his fist in your shirt relaxing into a flat palm and his nails digging into your hip a little less. You realise your vision has gone blurry when Jake pulls up enough to look you in the eye, and you can tell he’s nervous from the way he’s shaking against you. You blink a few times and your vision slowly clears up. You realise your mouth is hanging open a little, and shut it quickly. You’re definitely not looking cool right now, but you want to at least try to keep some of your dignity.

There is a short silence before you say calmly, “I am bleeding all over your couch.”

“Oh, fuck!” Jake exclaims, bolting upright and shoving himself off the couch and onto his feet. “Wait here, chum. I’ll get you a towel!”

You smirk and place a hand to your neck as he runs from the room, almost having the audacity to wonder how the hell he’s still calling you “chum” when he’s just sucked your blood before you remember that this is Jake English you’re talking about. You can feel blood trickling (not pumping, good sign) into your hand and sigh softly, wondering how the fuck you’re gonna get this shit out of your shirt. In fact, how’re you gonna go into work with this shit on your neck? Fuck. This is pretty much something you never thought you’d have to plan for, considering that up until a few minutes ago, you firmly believed that vampires did not exist, and certainly not in the form of your best friend slash love of your life.

Speak of the devil – Jake arrives back in the living room with a towel in his hand and rushes over to where you’re still lying (you really don’t want to move, in case you make more of a mess). He sits on the edge of the couch next to your waist and you move your hand so he can quickly press the towel to the wounds, though you could feel that it was bleeding less already. Jake looks you in the eye again and laughs shakily.

“Sorry there, old chap,” he says, a little too loudly. “Sometimes a fella just gets hungry. You know how it is.”

“Totally,” you deadpan, staring him down until he looks away with a small, embarrassed cough. There is a short silence before he speaks again.

“So…” he begins, and you raise your eyebrows at him. He glances over, then averts his eyes again, his free hand reaching up to scratch his head. “I suppose it’d be a good time to tell you I’m… well…”

“You don’t need to tell me,” you say evenly, and he whips his head around to stare at you. “I already knew you were fucking useless at video games.”

Jake gives an exasperated sigh, glaring at you and then staring up at the ceiling as if _he_ needed the patience to deal with _you_. “I do wish you’d actually let me say what I need to sometimes, Strider,” he mutters. You stay silent until he looks at you again, and then you nod, prompting him to launch into his confession.

“I’ve been like this my whole life,” he begins, speaking very quickly and looking everywhere but into your eyes. “Since I was born. Well, I think, anyway. That’s what Grandma told me before she died. She used to do the hunting for me, but when she died, I had to hunt for myself. And it was easy when there was just the beasts roaming around the island and nobody cared how much blood there was all over me but now I’m here and Dirk I don’t know what to do! I’ve been starving for the past week because I ran out of mutant blood, and I can’t stand human food, and…” He pauses, swallowing. “Blast. I’m not… human.”

He finally looks at you, and you can see a kind of pleading in his eyes behind his glasses. You really, really want to say something sarcastic, just to rile him up, but you don’t really have the heart or the energy to deal with that right now.

“S’all good, dude,” you drawl, smiling very slightly, and then you can’t help yourself. “You sure you had enough to eat? I’m like a fuckin’ all you can eat buffet, man. Go for it while you can.”

Jake stares at you, then stares at the towel at your neck, frowning. “I… don’t think,” he says slowly, “that it would be the best idea.”

You simply look at him, a tiny smirk playing on your face, until he looks back at you and then flinches a little at your expression. You sigh, and raise your hand to his hand on the towel, moving it so that you can hold the towel to your neck. You sit up and lean against the side of the couch. Fuck, you’re dizzy. Your vision is getting blurry again, but you do your best to look past it into your best friend’s eyes.

“So,” you say, and he looks at you pretty damn sheepishly and goddamn it’s cute on him, “is this some kind of ritual? Am I gonna become your vampire wifey now? You’d better tell me, because I’m gonna have to rearrange some –”

“Oh, just you can it, Strider,” Jake huffs, but there’s a smile playing on the boy’s lips that makes your heart beat a little faster, and for a second, it doesn’t even matter that he’s a vampire who just drank your fucking blood. You love him, and that’s all there is.

And then you pass out.


	2. Chapter 2

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and you could have just murdered your best friend.

 It was all going so well. He was providing a great distraction from the burning hunger in your stomach, your throat. You almost forgot about it while he murmured stupid things in your ear while you were watching your movie, while he kicked your ass at Mario Kart.

But then you had to get ahead of yourself. You just had to start wrestling with him, getting close enough to smell the blood under his skin, hear his heart pumping fast and loud and hear the blood swishing rhythmically through his veins.

You had to go and tempt yourself, didn’t you? 

And then suddenly you found your mouth on his neck, and you were sucking away like it was nobody’s business, and it wasn’t like you’d been so intimate with a human before. You don’t know if you made any noise. You hope to god you didn’t.

You were surprised when Dirk didn’t completely flip the fuck out on you. You know for a fact he freaked out when Roxy tried to kiss him that one time, and she didn’t even end up doing it. You’re not entirely sure why he didn’t freak out that you kind of kissed him and definitely drank some of his blood, but you’re pretty sure it’s because you fucking drank his blood, you freak.

And now he’s blacked out on your couch, and you have no idea what the fuck to do.

He probably won’t be out for long. Hopefully. How long does it take humans to wake up after they’ve passed out? All you’ve seen are scenes from movies, where the characters have woken up hours later. Cripes, the man has work tomorrow! He can’t afford to be blacked out!

Your chest constricts as it occurs to you that you have no clue whatsoever how to look after a human who’s just lost a fair amount of blood.

“Consarn it,” you mutter, beginning to panic as thoughts run through your head of Dirk losing too much blood, Dirk having to go to hospital, Dirk having to explain that yes, it’s all fine, it’s just that his vampire freak of a best mate got too hungry and decided to use him as a snack.

You do your best to focus, your heart now beating incredibly fast, though you can’t tell if it’s from terror or from fresh blood. Your whole body is burning with heat. It always does for a few hours after feeding. It’s hard to concentrate with the buzzing through your veins, but you’re trying, damn it, you’re trying so hard.

The first thing you really notice is that his head is lolling back so that it rests on the side of the couch. It looks bloody uncomfortable and frankly, you think he’d probably appreciate it if you moved him somewhere more comfortable. But… the only comfortable place other than the couch is the bed, and…

Oh, fuck it. The worst that could happen is that he’d wake up and make some inappropriate jokes at you.

Pulling the towel away – he’s no longer bleeding, thank goodness – you gently, slowly, push your arms underneath him – one beneath his shoulders, one beneath his thighs – and lift him up. He’s very light, and suddenly you start worrying if he’s been eating enough. After what  went down a couple years ago, making sure Dirk eats is pretty damn important. You push that thought out of your head. That’s not your greatest concern right now. What you need is to make sure he doesn’t stay unconscious for too long.

As it turns out, you have nothing to worry about.

You’ve nearly reached your room when Dirk’s eyes flutter open, and he gives you a glassy-eyed stare. You smile down at him, hoping to coax a similar expression out of him, but he just looks at you coolly.

“Back to life, are we?” you joke, your voice trembling a little with anxiety as you enter your room and set him down on the bed on his back. Dirk just raises an eyebrow at you, then smirks as his eyes suddenly flash and he gets up onto his elbows.

“First you rip open my neck, then you carry me bridal-style into your bedroom and put me on your bed?” he leers, and you feel a prickling heat rush up into your cheeks. “I’d say you should treat me to dinner and a movie first, but you’ve got at least one of those things down fuckin’ pat.”

His drawl is coming out more prominently, and though you think it’s sort of cute, you know it’s because he’s not feeling too good and isn’t concentrating enough to keep it subdued. You swallow, then sit on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Dirk, mate, I’m really sorry,” you begin, and you’re a little surprised to find that there’s a lump in your throat as you speak. It’s ruining your words. God damn it! You swallow again, then clear your throat. “I… I really do mean that. I don’t expect you to think things are all hunkydory between us. I understand if you…” There it is again. Stupid lousy goddamn lump! Just nick off already! “If you don’t want to be friends anymore,” you finish, and now you’re looking at your hand on your sheets, studying the dark skin and the freckles. Dirk doesn’t reply for a while, and you start to think he’s just not heard you when finally he speaks up.

“When were you going to tell me?” he asks quietly, and you hear him sit up properly because the bed creaks. He takes your wrist in his hand and you look at him in surprise. He usually only touches you for the irony of it. Bro-cuddles, he calls them. You almost get so lost in your pondering that you forget to answer his question. Upon registering what he’s asking, you avert your eyes again. For fuck’s sake. Why can’t you just look at him for once, while you tell him something important?

Still, as you speak, you can’t make yourself look him in the eye. “I don’t know,” you mumble, very quickly. “I was planning on never telling you. But –”

“You were planning on keeping the fact that you’re a vampire from me forever?” Dirk says incredulously, and you can feel his gaze burning into your cheek. You nod slowly, eyes glued to the sheets. Dirk sighs loudly, and you hear the bed creak again and feel it move as he shifts a little away from you.

“I seriously did not think,” Dirk says very slowly, “that there was such thing as vampires. Let alone, that my best friend would be one. Also, I didn’t factor blood loss into my tight as fuck schedule. Do you know how tight my schedule is, Jake?” He pauses, and you shrug, still not looking at him. “It is tight as fuck,” he continues. His voice is cold. “You’ve fucked me over. How am I gonna go to work like this? Do you have some kind of magical vampire power that’ll heal me right up? You gonna kiss it better, leech boy?”

You wince. You know you deserved that, but it hurts. You’ve never been called that before. And you didn’t think the first time would be from your best bro, whose friendship you treasure. You should probably say something, but you’re scared you’ll start crying if you do, and although you’ve cried talking to Dirk before, it’s never been to his face or even over the phone.

There is a long silence, and Dirk sighs again, heavily. “Look, man, I just… didn’t expect to have half my blood taken from me tonight, okay?” he says, his voice a little less sharp. You turn your head and look at him, and he’s frowning, picking at a loose strand on his tank top as he stares down at his hand. “I didn’t know vampires were real. I didn’t know you fucking drank blood to keep yourself going. Kinda seems like one of the first things you should tell someone when you meet them. Like, ‘Hi, my name’s Jake, I’m tall and freckly and I drain living things of their vitality to survive.’”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, and you’re looking at his hand now too, “I thought it would be okay. I thought… Gadzooks, I thought I could handle it.”  _You just smelled so bloody good_ , you nearly add, but you refrain yourself before it can escape your mouth. Dirk is quiet for a little, then to your complete shock, he ruffles your hair none too roughly.

“It’s cool, bro,” he says, and his voice is back to its usual drawling, casual tone. You look at him, and he’s smirking a little. “Just make sure you don’t get a raging boner next time you decide to feed on a human being.”

You stare at him, absolutely horrified. Is he… is he serious? Did you get a boner? You didn’t feel it if you did. Oh, fuck, it would make sense. You felt something different feeding on a human being. You probably did get a boner. Cheese and fucking crackers, you’re an asshole. Why would you –

And suddenly Dirk bursts out laughing, and you realise he was joking and your jaw drops in astonishment and chagrin.

“You bloody bastard!” you exclaim, shoving his shoulder gently as he chuckles. “You are truly the worst, you know that?”

“All part of the charm,” Strider grins at you, and you shake your head, unable to help the smile that tugs at your mouth. You hope that this means things won’t be weird between you. You hope that you can just put this behind you and he won’t care and you’ll both go to work tomorrow like nothing happened and you can just be normal bros.

And things are okay.

For a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two!  
> I've been quite busy lately, but I'm still writing a lot of the time, so please don't worry if I haven't updated in a few days! It's just because I'm trying to find a job, and my boyfriend's come up to visit, and I'm moving out, and it's all just a big ol' mess right now.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you haven’t slept properly for two weeks.

You managed to hide the bite marks on your neck with a bandage, and when your colleagues asked what happened, you tell them you slipped and fell on a doorknob. Most of the replies are “on your neck?” or “haha, yeah right!” and you don’t really care which it is, so long as they don’t bother you about it any further. They don’t, so it’s fine.

You work in a bar as a bartender, so you’re pretty used to late nights. A lot of the time, though, you’re also used to waking up very late in the morning. Lately, that just hasn’t been happening. You’ve been staying up all night and all day thinking about and researching vampires, and when you do get to sleep, you’re haunted by the feeling of Jake’s fangs in your neck, his hands on your shirt, his body pressed against yours. Also, your brain has been conjuring up a lot more fantasies lately. They don’t bother you usually – pigs’ll fly before a Strider is uncomfortable with sexuality – but lately they’ve been absolutely fucking plaguing you. Honestly, you’d love it if you could stop thinking about Jake’s lips and hands on your body. It would be pretty nice if you could stop imagining what his skin would taste like. And it would be an absolute goddamn wonder if you could stop picturing yourself under him, unable to speak, unable to do anything but touch him.

Yeah. That would be great. But it’s not gonna happen.

The worst part is, it’s not just sex you’re thinking about. You think maybe you could deal with that, maybe if you jacked off enough you’d settle the fuck down after a little while. After all, it’s probably normal that you want to touch him so much. He’s only been here for around a month now. You’re still not used to being able to see him properly, to hug him and whisper things in his ear to fluster him. That would explain the constant fantasizing, you think.

But nothing, _nothing_ can explain to you why the hell you want him to drink your blood again.

You don’t know how he’s been surviving for the past couple of weeks since he first drank from you. Probably pig’s blood from whatever butcher he can find that doesn’t get suspicious. God, you hope it’s pig’s blood. And not just because you don’t want him drinking from any more humans.

Mainly, you don’t want him drinking from anyone but you.

Since it happened, you feel like he’s marked you somehow. You feel like you belong to him, even more so than before. You hope to fuck it’s not some kind of vampire magic thing. From what you’ve read, it could be, but you’re pretty sure you’re too independent to become someone’s blood bitch.

You’re pretty sure, which means you’re not entirely sure, which means you’re vulnerable, and you fucking hate it.

Nobody else has ever made you feel like this before. Jake makes you feel so good, so whole, so helpless. You’ve never quite known what you’re going to do about him. More particularly, you’ve never quite known what you’re going to do about your adoration for him. Sometimes, you hate that you love him. It’s the one crack in your Strider coolguy identity that really fucks with you. Sometimes, you don’t want to love him. Sometimes, you wish you’d never realised while talking to him that day that you loved the shit outta him.

Sometimes, you just wish you didn’t have a heart.

Today’s a Saturday, and you’re wondering what to do for the rest of the weekend as you stare blankly into your fridge full of orange soda, apple juice and various semi-nutritional food items. You could spend the weekend alone, but you’re not really sure that’d be a good idea, what with the thoughts running through your head at the moment. You should probably go see Jane, scab some food off of her. She runs a small bakery in the city, and it’s been pretty successful from what you’ve heard. You met her through Roxy, who runs the bookstore beside her shop and has a massive crush on her besides. Though you were Roxy’s friend first, you’re a lot more prone to having phone calls from her, and therefore don’t feel the need to spend as much physical time with her as you do with Jane and Jake.

And here you are again, thinking about Jake. It’s innocent for about a second before you remember the feeling of his tongue on your puncture wounds, and you stiffen and abruptly close the fridge, making a loud clattering sound.

“Whoa there,” a voice says from behind you, and you turn to see your twin brother Dave leaning casually against the kitchen counter, watching you with one eyebrow raised. “What’s got your dick in a twist?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say calmly, sliding your hands into your pockets. “Just thought I’d let you know, I’ve been using your AJ bottles as piss bottles. Hope you didn’t drink any, bro.”

“Why would you keep your piss in the fridge?” Dave frowns, and you grin.

“All part of the fun, little bro.” You watch him fume at the latter term as you walk over and ruffle his hair. You’re twins, but he was born a few minutes after you. Thus, you’re superior. Dave shoves your hand away none too gently and glares at you before stalking out of the room. Your smirk fades a little. That guy’s so touchy lately. You wonder if there’s something going on with him, but then you remember that if there is, he’ll eventually come to you for advice. As much as he hates to admit it, Dave does seem to see you as his older brother. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket, and though it doesn’t catch you completely off guard, it does make you blink. You pull it out to see a text from Jane, and would you look at that, it seems she’s had the same idea as you.

**To Dirk:** Hello there! Are you busy today, by any chance?

**From Dirk:** Nope. Why?

**To Dirk:** Jake, Roxy and I were wondering if you’d like to come with us into the city today. Does that sound like fun to you?

**From Dirk:** What’s “fun?”

**To Dirk:** Oh, very funny, Dirk. We’ll see you at two!

You allow yourself a small smile and shove your phone back into your pocket. Talking to your friends always manages to cheer you up, even when one of them is a vampire that you’re head over ass in love with. And friendship aside, you’re pretty sure you’re tired of waiting for something exciting to happen between you and Jake. Why not just make it happen?

Confidence building within you, you head to your room to go get ready for the day ahead. This should be good.

This should be damn good.

 

\--

 

By the time you get to the bookshop, you’ve completely lost all your confidence, and you’ve made the decision several times over to not do what you wanted and to just wait for Jake to come to you. It’s easier that way. Safer. You’re not making yourself vulnerable, and that’s the best part about it.

Still, you feel a little stupid for giving up on it as you walk into the bookshop and see Jake beaming at your friends with that unabashed smile of his.

Roxy squeals and runs over to you, crushing you in a tight hug and greeting you chirpily.

“How’re you doing?!” she practically yells in your ear, and you smile as she pulls away from you, hands on your shoulders.

“I’m doin’ fine, darlin’,” you drawl, really exaggerating your accent. She laughs and hugs you again, the skips back to the others. You follow her at a more leisurely place, your eyes first landing on Jane.

“Hey there,” you smile, pulling her in for a hug. She smells like baked goods, as usual.

“Hi,” she cheerily says, squeezing you around the waist then pulling back. “It’s nice to see you again!”

“Nice to see you too,” you say, and it’s genuine. You do love your friends, no matter how cool and aloof you try to be.

You turn to Jake, who’s now grinning at you like the Cheshire Cat, and for just a moment you take in the fact that his canines look just as sharp as anyone else’s. Then you grin back and lean in for a hug. The other boy literally lifts you off the floor with the ferociousness of his hug.

“I say, my boy! I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks!” he says excitedly, and you laugh very quietly as he sets you back down on your feet. You take a step back and shove your hands in your pockets as you smirk at him.

“Miss me that much, English?” you jest, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realise you’d taken such a liking to me.”

“Why, I never!” Jake gasps in mock injury, and shoves you lightly. You laugh softly again and the girls laugh too, and it’s nice, it’s really nice. You just hope they don’t notice that your face is flushing with the excitement of being touched by Jake, of flirting with him.

It’s gonna be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to do a little bit of a double update, since I've written two chapters tonight. Also, this was kind of a short chapter. You can expect the next chapter to be up within a few minutes of this one.  
> Thanks so much for reading; let me know what you think!  
> (Oh, hey, also, it looks like I'm moving houses next Wednesday, so if I don't update for a little while, it's because I have no internet. Sorry about that!)


	4. Chapter 4

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and by Jove, you swear you’re going to prove to these people you’re not as oblivious as they think you are.

Sure, you’ve always been a little slow on the uptake, and you’re easily surprised by things even now with your heightened senses, but that doesn’t mean you’re bloody well ignorant to everything that goes on around you. You’re twenty years old now, you’ve known each of these people for at least five years, and you haven’t missed everything that goes on between them all.

For instance, you know for a fact that Roxy has taken it upon herself to fall completely in love with her neighbour.

She and Jane are almost constantly together, you’ve found since you moved here. And as you’ve observed today, they’re practically attached at the hip. They hold hands as you all wander through the city, in and out of shops and parks. Jane occasionally whispers things in Roxy’s ear – inside jokes, you assume – and they both giggle like children. And a few times, Roxy kisses Jane’s cheek, making the latter girl blush and swat her away. You’re not entirely sure if Jane reciprocates, but all the same, you hope she does. They’d make a grand couple.

And then, there’s Dirk.

He’s a lot harder to read than… well, anyone. Even his twin brother with the aviators is easier to decipher than Dirk. He’s quiet, and cool, and deadly calm pretty much all of the time. In fact, the only time he’s ever shown any negative emotion was when he snapped at you after you…

No. You’re not going to think about that.

But you’re already thinking about it, and your stomach fucking grumbles, and you feel like a complete idiot. Luckily, you’re in a fairly loud music store, and nobody seems to hear it.

Then someone’s wrapped their arms around you from behind, and you hear a low, smooth voice right next to your ear.

“What’s wrong, English? You getting hungry?” the voice murmurs, and you know it’s Dirk and oh fuck you can smell him, you can feel his heart beating against your back, oh great Caesar’s ghost your fangs are coming out –

“NO HOMO!” Roxy yells, and you jump violently as Dirk lets go of you and steps back, and you can just imagine his shit-eating smirk and you are absolutely _furious_.

“All homo, Rox,” Dirk says, and when you turn around, yes, there it is, that bloody smirk of his pulling one corner of his mouth up. “You know you love it.”

“Yes, okay, very funny!” you grumble as soon as your fangs have retracted enough for you to speak without flashing them at everyone and freaking them out. “Now can we please get out of this place? It’s a little loud for my tastes.”

“Yeah,” Jane agrees, wincing a little as the song changes to something loud and thumping. “I think I’ve had enough of this place, too.”

“Out we go, then!” you say, turning on your heel and marching out the door. You know the others will follow you, even though you’re not really their leader, Roxy is. And you’re right, they do follow you. See! Nobody can call you unobservant now!

You wait for the others to wander out of the store. Dirk comes first, and you glare at him. You’re going to have a little word with him later. Then Jane comes out, and Roxy isn’t far behind her, but it looks like Roxy’s already got plans, because she immediately goes to the front of the group and starts walking determinedly down the street with a big smirk on her face. You follow her in vague confusion before you see that she’s stopped in front of an adult store. Oh, marvellous. Just what you need. More reason for Dirk to tease you.

You and only you.

You’re pretty sure the chap likes you.

He doesn’t make it obvious – it’s hard to tell what he means and what he doesn’t behind his bloody annoying “ironies” – but you’re not quite sure the way he focuses his teasing on you is strictly a platonic irony thing. Besides, you know he’s a rather sexually charged kind of person. If he does like you, it’s because he wants you in his bed for the night, and you are a _gentleman_ who simply does not do one-night stands.

You can’t say you hadn’t thought about it though.

When you were just internet friends, before you moved to Texas, he was even more open with his double entendres and Freudian “slips” than he is nowadays. You could hardly go an hour talking to him without him twisting your words and making them about how you’re attracted to him. It was so frustrating! In fact, it still is! As you remember this, you glare at him again, but he doesn’t catch it. Or at least, you don’t think he does. You can’t tell behind those silly old glasses of his.

You remember the time you took off his glasses, and you remember feeling a brief sense of shock at the bright golden-orange colour of his eyes. That is, before your hunger overtook you and you buried your fangs in his soft, warm neck.

No! No thinking about the way your best bro’s neck felt! Stop that!

You realise someone’s talking to you, and blink yourself back into reality. Jane’s looking at you concernedly, Roxy is staring openly at you, and Dirk is just smirking lazily at you like he’s never been doing anything else. You shake your head a little, and grin nervously.

“Sorry, palio,” you say to Roxy, your voice wavering a little. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying,” Roxy enunciates, frowning a little, “that you look like you’re completely gone. You  okay, dude?”

You laugh, and though it’s a little weak, Jane smiles reassuringly and Roxy’s frown lessens. “I’m grand! Just thinking about some things I have to do at home,” you explain. “It’s all spectacular in Jake town!”

“Jake.” Roxy shakes her head at you, grinning fondly. “That is about the dorkiest thing I have ever heard you say.”

“Aren’t we gonna head inside?” Dirk interjects, his eyebrows raised. “I wanna see the horse dildos.”

“Oh, charming,” Jane mutters as Roxy laughs and leads the way inside the adult store. You sigh and go in after everyone else, hoping there’s nothing even remotely close to horse dildos in there.

As it turns out, there aren’t any horse dildos, but the first thing your eyes fall on is a set of whips, chains and harnesses. It takes Dirk about a second to quietly quip, “Gonna need one of those to keep wild boy here at bay.”

You gape at him as the girls laugh, the blood in your body rushing to your cheeks and also simultaneously reminding you that you haven’t eaten in a few days. Dirk grins at you, teeth and all, and you snap your mouth shut, refusing to grace him with a reply.

You are _definitely_ having a talk with him later.

 

\--

 

A few hours after that horrifically embarrassing incident, you’ve explored practically every store in the city, and all of you are pretty tired from all the walking you’ve done. As a group, you walk back to the bookstore as the sun sets, you chatting aimlessly with Roxy and vaguely listening to Jane and Dirk talking quietly behind you both. Once you reach the bookstore, you and Dirk stay outside as Roxy and Jane unlock the door to get in.

“You boys sure you don’t want something to eat before you go?” Jane offers, and Dirk shakes his head at the same time that you politely say, “No, thank you.” Roxy seems to puff up a little, then she pulls both you and Dirk into a rib-crushing hug, mumbling “I love you guys!” into your shoulders before pulling away. You don’t think about how close you and Dirk were just then. You don’t think about it at all as you smile at Roxy.

“I love you too, mate!” you say cheerily, and Roxy winks at you, then turns and heads into the bookstore. If anyone’s the cool one in this group, it’s definitely her. You turn your smile on Jane, who’s waiting patiently for her hug from you, seeing as she’s already gotten one from Dirk. You take her into your arms and squeeze her, and she wheezes.

“Gentle, Jake,” she puffs. “We’re not all giants, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you laugh, releasing her. “Have a good night!”

“Thank you! Same to you both!” Jane says happily, before stepping into the bookstore after Roxy. You’re quite sure why she followed Roxy instead of going into her own shop, which is right next door, but you don’t question it aloud.

You take a deep breath, and turn to Dirk.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. There he is with his arms out and everything. You really want to be mad at him, but you can’t reject a hug from your best friend. Sighing, you allow yourself to step forward and embrace him, and you’re surprised when he squeezes you tight enough to make you wheeze a little.

“Okay, old chap, okay,” you gasp, and he lets go of you, his laugh as close to a giggle as it can get. How can someone who’s so much skinnier than you have such a tight grip? You try to forget about that and remember all the things he’s done today to piss you off. As you remember the comment about the harnesses, you huff and cross your arms, stepping away from him.

“Hey, mate, I want to talk to you.” You look into his eyes as best you can through those glasses of his, but you can’t see any change in expression. “May I walk you home?”

“I’m swooning as we speak,” he says flatly, and you can’t help but snort. Ugh. He’s too good at this. You need to stay mad at him, dang it.

“Come on, then. Let’s go.” You start walking slowly, waiting for him to catch up with you, and he does. You walk for a little while in silence, then you hear him clear his throat expectantly. You sigh heavily, preparing yourself.

“Look…” you begin, and then suddenly you’re not quite sure how to word this. What are you even trying to tell him? ‘Stop grabbing me by the waist and whispering things in my ear, because I want your blood and having you that close really makes me hungry?’ You know how that conversation would go down. You heave another sigh and just go for it, because who cares, it’s Dirk, and you’re supposed to be open with him. He’s your best friend.

“I’m going to need you to stop… um… getting so close to me all the time.” You don’t look at him as you say this, but you shove your hands in your pockets and wait for him to reply. He doesn’t seem to have anything to say for a little while, but when he does speak, you can hear the grin in his voice.

“How am I supposed to know what’s close, bro?” he asks, and gee fucking willikers you’re pissed off at him. “You’re gonna have to give me an example if I’m gonna know where our boundaries are.”

“Like grabbing me and whispering things in my ear!” you complain, glaring at the floor. “You can’t just do that, you know. I need a heads-up at the very least!”

“Heads up,” Dirk replies, and then the fucker’s grabbed you by the waist again and is holding you tight against him. “Is this too close? I can get closer if I really try,” he murmurs in your ear. You shiver and push him away, trying not to think about the smell of his blood and how it tasted and how good it felt to have him against you.

“Far too close,” you grumble, and walk a little faster. He catches up with you quickly, and then he gently grabs your arm and pulls you to a stop.

“Yo, let’s talk about this,” he says, and he genuinely sounds interested. Concerned, even. “We’re nearly at my house, and I don’t want my little shit of a brother walking in on a serious feelings jam.”

You stare at him, a little confused as he takes your arm and leads you to a dark but clean alley beside a house. He leans against the wall casually, and you stand awkwardly in front of him, not quite sure what to say now that you know Strider actually wants to know what you’re feeling.

“I…” You’re stalling, really. “I, um. It makes me uncomfortable when you make… jokes at me, at my expense.” You’re looking anywhere but him. “It’s embarrassing. And… I don’t…” You don’t what? Like him in that way? But he may not like you in that way, either. Damn it, all those ironies have got you mixed up and you don’t know what to do. “I don’t believe it’s very gentlemanly,” you finish, glancing up from the floor to him and back down again when you see his mouth is slightly open.

“Jake…” Dirk begins, and he sounds so serious that you actually look at him this time. He’s walking toward you, but he doesn’t look like he wants a hug. Confused, you back up, and he keeps walking until you’re up against the wall. Your heart beats a little faster as he leans in, moving his hands to the wall above your shoulders. You can feel his breath on your face, even though he’s shorter than you.

“When have I…” He moves his left hand to trail his fingers down your face, and the tiniest of smirks tugs at his lips, which you weren’t looking at. “…Ever been gentlemanly?”

You stare at him, and you keep staring as he strokes your face, and your heart is pumping so loudly, and you can smell him, not just his blood but the scent of oil and sweat and honey-scented body wash, and you keep staring until you can see his mouth twitch and hear him gasp a little. You frown for a second, then you realise what’s happened, and your heart skips a beat.

Oh, fuck.

Your fangs are out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of the double-update! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you honest to god have no fucking clue what you’re doing right now.

You tried so hard not to be a dick today. You really did. But it seems you can’t help yourself.

When you heard Jake’s stomach rumble in the music store, complete impulse took over your stupid, stupid, _stupid_ brain and like the asshole you are, you grabbed him by the waist and asked him if he was hungry. What a fucking douchenut. Of course he’s hungry, and you’ve just gotten even closer to him and probably made it so much goddamn worse.

But that’s not where it ends. No. In the adult store, you make a lewd joke at his expense – like, really fucking insulting him – and you never even apologised for it. Even as you started saying it, you were screaming at yourself in your head, telling yourself stop stop stop, but of course it didn’t work, and of course you looked in his eyes and saw how upset he was, and of course you didn’t act like you gave half a fuck.

And then, the walk home.

God, why couldn’t you just control yourself?!

Putting your arms around him when he’d literally just told you that he didn’t want that anymore? Whispering some overtly sexual bullshit in his ear again like you don’t know how much it’ll affect him? Jesus Christ, can you get any douchier?

Oh, wait, you fucking can.

He’s telling you how embarrassed he is when you do shit like that, telling you from the bottom of his heart that he’s genuinely uncomfortable with it, and you’re so close to actually seriously confessing to your feelings for him and telling him you never want to hurt him, never ever, and that you’ll stop and you’re sorry.

But what happens is that you say his name, back him up against the alley wall, get right in his face and get all fucking suggestive like he’s already your boyfriend and like you’re about to fucking kiss him.

And then his fangs come out and everything just goes to hell.

“Shit,” you whisper, staring at them, and your free hand instantly goes to the bandage on your neck. Jake watches, his eyes the only part of him that’s moving. He’s completely frozen.

“Jake, I…” Want you to bite me again. Want you to suck my blood and run your hands up and down my body. Want you to drink me, want you to touch me, want you to love me.

“I don’t want to drink your blood,” Jake says very quietly, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to do that to you.” His fangs are still out, and you’re worried they’ll pierce his bottom lip. Those things are fucking sharp.

“…Why not?” you murmur, keeping as still as you can and trying not to breathe on him. You don’t want to close the distance, but you don’t want to widen it either. He’s staring into your eyes, and you want to take off your glasses so he can see that you’re almost as torn as he would be, and twice as vulnerable.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, but he’s looking at your throat. You take in a slightly shaky breath, trying to keep your cool. “It’s wrong,” Jake continues, so quietly you almost have to lean closer to hear him. “I shouldn’t… I don’t need human blood, it’s… I’m… I don’t want you,” he says, and you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. He doesn’t notice you wince, or maybe he does. You don’t care.

“Don’t want me, huh?” you say bitterly, under your breath. “That’s not what it felt like last time.”

Jake gasps softly, and you see his hands clench into fists in your peripheral vision. You brace yourself, and before you know it he’s doing exactly what you expected, shoving you away, pushing you again and again until you’re the one backed into the wall and he’s got a fist in the front of your shirt and he’s so close you can almost taste him.

“I… don’t… want you,” he growls, and you scoff.

“Then why’d you do it?” you say, all calmness gone from your voice. “Why the fuck did you drink my blood, Jake? Why did you have your hands all over me while you were doing it? Why did you fucking moan like a little bitch as you leeched me –”

“I didn’t bloody well – you –” He’s nearly shouting, but then he seems to realise where he is and lowers his voice to a deadly whisper. “I didn’t enjoy it. I did not enjoy taking something vital from you, Dirk.”

“Then why the fuck did I?” you snarl, and the look of shock on his face is more than enough to set you off. “Why did I fucking love it when you had your teeth in my goddamn neck? You trying to work some kind of vampire magic on me? Because guess what, it’s fucking working, I want it, okay? I know it’s sick, I know that, you don’t need to tell me how fucking depraved I am because _I already  know_! Jesus fuck, Jake, if you don’t want to do that shit to me then why’d you do it in the first place? Why’d you make me want it so bad? Why the fuck…” You trail off, noticing that Jake is shaking, nearly shuddering, and his eyes aren’t on yours, they’re on your body and you can just tell he’s smelling you. It makes you hungry for him like you wouldn’t believe.

You decide very quickly that you need to get a fucking room, and suddenly you find yourself pulling Jake roughly along as you march down the street to your small house. You fumble with the keys as you unlock the door, barely remembering to shut it behind you before you drag Jake through the hall and into your room.

Your last thought before you shut your door is that holy shit, you sure hope Dave isn’t home right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truly I am pumping out the chapters recently.   
> I hope to finish this fic soon so that I can move onto bigger things... better ships... even more fun AUs... stay tuned!  
> Thanks for reading. Enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and boy howdy, you’re fucking hungry.

The moment after Dirk Strider said he wanted you, actually wanted you to sink your teeth into his skin, you completely lost all ability to listen to what he was trying to say. You were hungry – no, you were starving – and here was a beautiful boy, your best friend in the world, offering up his perfect blood to you.

You almost bit into him right there and then, but you still had some form of common decency, even if you were eyeing him like you’d never seen him before and he was everything in the world.

He must have known what you were thinking, because you noticed him sharply intake a breath, and then he was leading you down the street to his house. And through his hall. And into his room. And onto his bed.

You’d be making a right mess of his neck right now if you weren’t suddenly so bloody terrified.

You’re on top of him, pinning him down with your thighs on his hips, and he’s taken off his glasses and you’ve taken off yours and he’s looking at you, watching, waiting, but land sakes alive this is hard.

You were telling the truth when you told him you didn’t want to take something vital from him. You want his blood, you want it so bad it’s quite literally hurting you, but you don’t want to hurt him. You can’t hurt him, because you love him. As a friend. Of course. This is probably what other vampires do with their friends, too. You wouldn’t know, though.

“Jake?” Dirk says from underneath you, and you can see in his eyes he’s hungry too, not for blood but for you, and you feel goosebumps raising on your arms as you lick your dry lips. He swallows. Is he… is he nervous? “If it helps…” he mumbles, and he actually averts his eyes, “you can kiss me first. If you want.”

You gasp sharply, and he winces and starts to backtrack. “No, dude, I was joking, it’s cool, don’t worry about it. In fact, you don’t even have to drink my blood, or do anything. It’s fine. I don’t…  Oh, fuck, Jake, I’m sorry, I –”

“It’s okay, mate,” you say quietly, your heart thumping thickly in your chest. It’s aching, screaming for sustenance. You urge it to be patient. Surprising him and yourself, you tenderly stroke his messy blonde hair, looking into his eyes. “It’s okay.”

You’re hungry, yes. You’re absolutely starving. But damn it, you’re going to be a gentleman about it.

“Jake…” Dirk’s voice is shaking like you’ve never heard before, and it makes you want to… It makes you want to… do something about it.

“I’m going to drink your blood,” you say, very quietly and very matter of factly. He goes completely still. Waiting. “But I need your permission to take it from… um… not your neck.”

Say anything you want about Dirk Strider, but he sure does catch on quickly.

“You want to take it from my thigh,” he says, his voice wavering. You nod, very slowly, knowing he must have done some kind of research to know about the larger blood vessels in the human inner thigh. He’s silent for a long time, and – wait, is he holding his breath? Just as you’re about to say something, he releases it all in a huff.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, but he’s smiling the littlest bit. “Yeah. Okay. Just…”

“Hmm?” you encourage, and he sighs shakily.

“Just don’t be surprised if I pop a huge boner, okay?” he says, and there’s a little desperation in his voice. You would blush if you had enough blood in you, and as it is, you’re shaking all over with… apprehension? Excitement? God damn it, you can’t tell in all this mess what you’re feeling right now, but you know you’re getting hungrier by the second, so you nod again and begin to make your move.

You slowly, carefully move your body down so that your knees are on either side of his, and you undo the button on his jeans as calmly as possible. He’s watching you and you’re watching him, waiting for him to tell you to stop and that he doesn’t like you in that way and that he doesn’t want you anymore, but all you see in his eyes is complete and utter trust. You direct your attention back to Dirk’s jeans as you undo the zipper, trying not to go too slow, and oh no, oh geez he’s already getting hard. Oh, fuck, you don’t know how to handle this.

So you don’t. You just ignore it, fall back into your hunger, and pull down his jeans. His boxers are a hideous orange, but you definitely don’t take note of that. You gaze at his thighs, fair and creamy, and you pick a spot, and then you pull down his jeans the rest of the way and throw them aside.

He looks at you like he wants to say something, but you’re too hungry now, you’re so bloody hungry, you can’t stop yourself. You spread his thighs apart – it’s not sexual, it’s not sexual, it’s just where the biggest blood vessels are – and lower your mouth toward his left inner thigh. You lick it gently first, tasting the skin and the saltiness of sweat, and dear God, you absolutely love it. You open your mouth and position your fangs, biting down as slowly as you can and then pulling out, and there’s blood in your mouth, so much sweet blood, and you lose track of anything else for a second.

Until you hear Dirk moan, and it sends a shudder through your whole body.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought, just for a second, that this could be rather… erotic for him. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little erotic for yourself. But bloody hell, you have to keep under control, you can barely handle drinking his blood without keeling over from guilt, let alone… let alone touching him in the way you sometimes want to touch him.

As it is, you’re distracted by it, and a little blood seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You pull away a little, and Dirk makes a strange noise almost like a growl before he breathes, “Keep going.” You’re a gentleman and gentlemen do what they’re told, so you keep going, but you’re a little less concerned about the taste of the blood and a little more concerned with the way Dirk’s breathing and what you can do to keep him breathing like that.

You run your hand up the outer side of his thigh and let your tongue flick over the holes you’ve made, and he bloody well gasps like nothing you’ve ever heard before, a great shuddering breath that sends heat down your spine and into your groin. Suddenly, you’re not quite sure this is about blood anymore.

You’re very quickly getting full – human blood, you know now, is a lot richer than animal blood and far more filling – but you still want more of Dirk. You still want to hear him make those noises, and it’s not like you love him or anything, but you do, you do love him as a friend and you want him to be happy, and he seems pretty dang happy right now.

Pulling away from his thigh reluctantly and holding your hand there to stem the bleeding, you look up at Dirk, and by golly the old boy’s panting and his boxers are bulging and now you can feel yourself blushing because you might want him and you might be thinking about kissing him right this second.

“Why’d you… Why’d you sdhop?” Dirk mumbles, and you realise that fuck, you might’ve taken too much blood again. You look at him, the way he’s pulled at his shirt, the messiness of his hair, and you know it’s time to stop.

“I took too much,” you say evenly, and he whines and throws his head back onto the pillow.

“You only took, like… a minute’s worth, bro,” he complains, his words slurring slightly. You feel your heart miss a beat as you notice his breathing is rather heavy. Also, he’s still bleeding into your palm, though it’s not pumping like it was before. You don’t know for sure, but you think something in your vampire saliva does in fact help to stem bleeding and heal your victims. Unless you kill them.

Then you remember that great googly fucking moogly, you had the potential to kill this man and he knew it and he still let you drink his blood.

You look away from him, tears welling in your eyes. You’re an absolutely horrid person, Jake English, and you’re not even a fucking person. You’re inhuman. You’re a freak. A monster, and you know it.

“Jake?” Dirk asks, actual tangible concern in his low voice, and you see him move to sit up out of the corner of your eye.

“Don’t,” you say quickly, trying not to allow your voice to shake. “Stay still. You’ve lost a lot of b-blood.” You glance around, spot a towel hanging on the back of the door, and quickly get up and grab it before kneeling back down on the bed and pressing the towel against his thigh. He’s still wheezing a little, but he’s sitting up now, propped against the bedhead.

“Jake,” Dirk says, and there’s something like anger in his voice. You wince and stare determinedly at your hand on the towel. “Jake, look at me.”

“I can’t,” you mutter, tears spilling over and running down your cheeks. Dang it, you’re so bloody weak. You hear Dirk growl and you almost look up in surprise, but all that happens is that you jump slightly.

“Jesus fuck, Jake, you just took half my goddamn blood,” you hear him say, and he sounds genuinely pissed off now. “You fucking owe it to me to at least _look_ at me after you bleed me out.”

You sniff and look at him, trying not to appear pathetic but you know you’re failing because Dirk’s looking at you with a set to his mouth that makes it look like he’s disgusted with you. Of course he is. He never wanted this, he just wanted you because he likes you, he trusted you to make it a good thing and you fucked it up.

“Why are you crying?” he inquires, and you try your best not to glare at him as you wipe away your tears with the back of your free hand.

“I’m not…” You take a deep, shaky breath in. You are crying. There’s no point in hiding it. “I hurt you. You’re my best bro, and I hurt you.”

“It seems you think you’ve hurt me,” he says flatly, but he’s grinning very slightly. You feel your heart sink and your chest fill up with panicked air.

“Of course I fucking hurt you!” you burst out, your hand on the towel clenching around the material. “I’m a thundering leech, for pete’s fucking sake! You didn’t ask for this! I –”

“I literally asked for this,” Dirk interrupts, infuriatingly calm although he’s swaying a little and blinking like his vision’s going out. “I literally said, ‘Hey, I want you to go to town on my veins, let’s get a room and do that shit.’ It’s not your fault for being h… hungry.” His eyes widen and he blinks hard. You make to move closer to him, not sure what you’re going to do, but he holds up a hand and you still immediately as he breathes heavily and curls in on himself a little. You choke a little. You hate watching this, but you have to. You did this to him. You fucked him up. It’s all your fault.

“’M fine,” he mutters, and to your complete shock he places his hand gently on your arm. “Don’t cry. ‘M fine.”

You try not to sob as you speak quietly, your eyes moving back down to your hand. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, and your whole body is shaking in your attempt to not start bawling like a fucking human baby. “I didn’t want to do this to you. I know you said I could, but… I took too much. It’s always too much,” you whisper. A long silence stretches out as Dirk strokes your arm more gently than you could’ve believed from this bot-building ruffian, and slowly, you realise that Dirk’s waiting for you to say something. You sigh.

“I’m sorry, mate,” you say softly, looking down at him into his eyes. He’s watching you like he’s expecting something, but you don’t know what it could be. “I think… I don’t…” You pause as he winces, and you frown slightly, wondering what in the blasted hell he thinks you’re going to say. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” you mutter. He gasps very quietly, but you still catch it, and before you know it, he’s rambling.

“Listen, dude, I’m not in pain, okay?” he starts, and he’s looking at you very intensely. You can’t break your eyes away. “I’m having the time of my fucking life, and I mean that. No ironies here, bro. I like it when you drink my blood, and I don’t want you to starve yourself living off pig’s blood for the rest of your life. I’ve got more blood than I ever needed anyway. And there’s something about it, man, the way you take my blood, it feels pretty goddamn good. And I want you to keep doing it, Jake, because I’m fucking worried about you hurting yourself like I used to, and – fuck, man. Don’t cry. It’s okay. It’s okay.” You don’t know when in his rant you started sobbing, but now you are, and it’s pretty bloody embarrassing to be crying this hard when you’ve never cried in front of anyone in your life. Suddenly unable to help yourself, you pull him close to you, holding him tight. He stiffens for a second, probably because he’s only in a tank top and boxers and you’ve pretty much pulled him into your lap, but then his hands slip around your waist and he’s murmuring into your neck, nonsense comfort words as he strokes your back gently.

When you’ve calmed down, you talk.

You tell him what vampirism is all about, let him know about your suspicions about your saliva’s slight healing powers, tell him that it’s weird and you don’t understand it all but you’re going to learn. He tells you he’s been researching vampires, that he’s absolutely certain it’s not just your vampire charm that’s making him want you to drink from him, that he’d be more than happy for you to drink from him on occasion just so you don’t get too hungry. You come to an agreement – once a week feedings, not too much but just enough to keep you going – and leave it at that.

It’s not until after you’ve finished talking that you realise he’s holding your hand, and it takes you a little while longer to realise you like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update today! I hope to finish writing this entire fic tonight. I don't care how late I have to stay up. You can't tell me how to live my life!  
> Thanks for reading. Please enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for drug use in this chapter! If you can't read it, feel free to skip it - it's very fluffy.

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you can’t believe the shit you’re reading.

Mostly, you picked up these books because you were bored, and you’d read everything on the internet that there was to read about vampires (barely any of it, by the way, is true), and you’d heard about these novels and how terrible they were and you thought, hey, why the hell not.

So that’s how, on an uneventful Friday night, you find yourself wrapped right the fuck up in the first Twilight novel, sneering and snorting every two seconds about how unbelievably terrible this writing is.

It’s been a few weeks since you and Jake made the decision to let him feed off you once every seven days (give or take), and you know for a fact now that vampires are a whole lot different from what you’ve always assumed. Not that you’ve ever assumed much about vampires, but you thought at least that vampires would hate the sun.   
That does not hold true for Jake. That dork loves the sun so much, he’s pretty much constantly out in it when he’s not working or wandering his streets. You actually asked him about it once, and he gave you a very strange look. “I’ve always loved the sun,” he said, frowning at you. “What on earth have you been watching?” You replied with a non-committal shrug and left it at that, but you still wonder sometimes if they’re solar powered, like some kind of bloodsucking cat.

Speaking of cats, you’ve found that Jake can get very scratchy when he feeds on you.

The thrill of being fed on hasn’t faded at all, but you’ve learned how to cope with it and what the signs are that you’re losing too much. And you’ve learned to observe his little habits even while you’re focusing on how his body and his hands feel against you. He digs his nails into you if he’s extra hungry; one time, he grabbed your ass hard and squeezed you like he had nothing else to hold on to, and you nearly fucking passed out from happiness. As it was, you could barely stop yourself from letting a truly embarrassing noise escape your lips. Afterward, you told him what he’d done, and the poor dude was mortified. He apologised for days after, only receiving teasing and winks from you.

Man, annoying Jake English is fun.

Lately, you’ve taken to pissing him off by asking him questions like, “why don’t you sparkle in the sun?” and “aren’t you supposed to sleep in a coffin, bro?” At first he took it personally, not used to being subjected to your quips about his vampirism, but he’s gotten used to it now and has even graced you with a comeback once or twice. It’s a good time, and you love acting like you’re just his bro, but part of you wishes you could actually be affectionate toward him without it getting clouded by irony.

You’re just reading the part where Edward’s glaring at Bella while lifting a car away from her when your phone starts ringing. You quickly set the book down – making sure to dog-ear the page, even though Roxy has told you off many a time for it – and pull your phone from your pocket. It’s the lady of the hour. You slide the unlock button on your phone and hold it to your ear, leaning back against the couch.

“Sup, Lalonde?” you say casually, fiddling with the pages of the book beside you as you speak.

“Diiiirk,” Roxy purrs, and you grin and shake your head. She sounds drunk. You hope Jane’s there to look after her. “I’ve got… a _question_ for you!”

“Shoot.” You wonder what she wants you to do now. She used to ask you to kiss her when she got drunk. Hell, sometimes she’d ask you to kiss her when she was completely sober. But you think she’s gotten over that now. You hope.

“Well…” Roxy begins, excitement in her voice. “I got a good deal on some dank-ass kush, and there’s a fuck – a fuckload here, and me and Janey can’t get through it all ourselves…”

“You asking me to smoke with you, Lalonde?” you say slowly, raising your eyebrows as if she can hear you doing it. She giggles, and you shake your head, grinning. “Absolutely not. I’m nice.”

Roxy bursts into unabashed peals of laughter on the line, and you can hear Jane laughing too, in the background. You wait patiently for them to settle down, and when they’re adequately calmed, you speak again.

“I’m bringing Jake along,” you warn, and Roxy squeals.

“Yeeees!” she yells, and you wince. God, that girl is loud. “Go pick him up, go go go!”

“Be there in forty,” you smirk, hanging up the phone. To tell the truth, you’re pretty pumped. You haven’t smoked in a couple years, not since you had kind of a years-long body image incident that weed only worsened. But you don’t want to think about that, so you don’t. Instead, you get up, glance in the living room mirror to make sure you look okay, then grab your keys and head out the door.

When you get to Jake’s house, he seems surprised to see you, but not upset. “Dirk, old chum!” he exclaims, stepping forward and embracing you in a hug. “I wasn’t expecting you!” His voice drops as he pulls away and looks at you, frowning slightly. “It’s not feeding time yet, chap.”

“You think I only see you so you can drink from me? I’m wounded, English,” you reply quietly, grinning as he rolls his eyes at you and steps back to allow you into the house, looking at you a little strangely when you don’t step in. “I’m taking you to Roxy’s,” you explain coolly, and a smile spreads across his face. “We’re getting high.” His smile fades a little. He’s looking at you worriedly. Aw, hell. You should’ve known he might react like this.

“Dirk,” he begins, but you cut him off.

“Dude, I’m fine,” you reassure him, making sure to not let any annoyance leak into your tone. “It’s over now. It’s been over for a year. This is gonna be fun, man. It will,” you say firmly as he opens his mouth to interrupt. “Trust me.”

He looks like he’s thinking it over, and you’re about to tell him to forget it when he sighs resignedly, a smile creeping back onto his face.

“Oh, fine,” he says, as though you’re a fuckin’ kid who’s convinced his bro to get him ice cream really late at night. “Let’s go.”

 

\--

 

As it turns out, your threshold is a lot lower than you remember.

You’ve been at Roxy’s for a few hours now, and it’s getting pretty late, but you’re pretty much floating and you’re not quite sure you want to leave yet, because this is nice, you’re with your friends and you’re high as hell and you’re actually laughing properly for once instead of just short, soft chuckles. Jake has been at your side the whole night. You can tell even in your state that he’s not that high, and you doubt he’s feeling much of it. Maybe his threshold is higher because he’s a vampire? You don’t know. As soon as you have that thought, you kind of want him to bite you again. You grin at him suggestively, raising one eyebrow, and he blinks rapidly and smiles in a confused manner. You laugh at his expression and lean against him, your head on his shoulder as you watch Jane and Roxy play some kind of board game. You’re not sure even they know what they’re playing.

After a little while, the feeling starts to wear off, and you figure you’d better head off before you fall asleep. You say your goodbyes and thankyous to Roxy and Jane, who are now eyeing each other off like they’re pretty much waiting for you to leave so they can make out, and head out the door. You nearly make it to your car before you hear someone running after you. You turn around, and Jake is there in front of you, looking very concerned again. What’s with this guy, man?

“You can’t drive me home like this, friend,” he says gently, and you smirk, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him close enough to kiss him.

“Try me, motherfucker,” you murmur, your voice rumbling with the dryness of your throat. You think you feel Jake shiver before he pushes you away and pulls out his phone. You laugh deep in your throat and quickly take his phone out of his hand.

“Oi!” he protests, trying to grab it off you. Usually, you’d be too fast for him to catch, but you’re fucking high right now and you can’t make your arms move fast enough and he grabs you. Before he can grab his phone, you shove it down the front of your pants and grin up at him like you’ve just made the best move anyone’s ever made. He gapes at you openly, and you laugh at his expression, because fuck it, it’s funny and he’s cute.

“You gonna try and get it, or you gonna just give up and stay at mine tonight?” you ask innocently, and he scoffs.

“There are more gentlemanly ways of asking a man to stay the night with you, Mr. Strider!” he huffs, then turns on his heel and starts stalking down the street in the direction of your house. You quickly catch up with him, and he doesn’t seem to mind when you slip your arm into his.

“Hey,” you say quietly, and he looks aside at you. “I want you to drink me up like a glass of water.” You pause as he raises his eyebrows at you. “Or a glass of blood, in your case.”

“Are you… are you sure?” he asks, and you can tell he’s trying pretty hard not to let his fangs come out. “It’s only been two days since my last feed –”

“Pig blood,” you tell him, “is not a feed. I am.”

He blushes, but not very much. He’s pretty pale underneath the dark shade of his skin. “Yes, I… you’re right. Okay.”

You grin widely as you turn the street to your house – you, Roxy and Jane really do not live very far apart – and you know that tonight’s gonna be good. 

 

\--

 

“By golly,” Jake exclaims when he first tastes your blood. He’s taken to just lightly pricking the skin of your thigh before going in for the kill. He says that it’s so he can taste the blood and savour it before drinking it. You hope it’s because he just loves the taste of you too much to drink it all at once.

“What’s up, bro?” you question, and he shakes his head rather violently, but he’s licking his lips.

“You taste different,” he says, and your thoughts instantly turn to filth.

“Do I, now?” is all you can manage, along with a wink, and his eyes widen.

“Not like that! You know that!” he backpedals, and you just laugh at him. He sighs, and frowns. “No,” he says, “I mean, you – your blood, it tastes… sweeter.”

“You sure about that?” you ask, smirking. “Maybe you should check again.”

“Oh, to hell with you, Strider,” Jake mutters, but he lowers his mouth back to your thigh and this time he fully penetrates your skin. You shiver. You’re high, but you’re coming down a little, enough so that you can feel your body again, and goddamn, are you glad about that.

After every feeding, you like to think you’ve figured out what you like most about it. At first you thought it was the feeling of his tongue against the wounds, flicking lightly, sometimes pressing fully against them. Then you remembered the way his hands feel on your body, and you thought that was the best part until you realised that you fucking loved the way he sometimes made soft, helpless noises into your flesh.

This time, you’re pretty sure all of it is fucking amazing.

Soon, too soon, he pulls away from you, and you’ve learned to be prepared with towels at all times so he grabs one from your desk chair and presses it into your thigh.

And then he fucking _giggles_ , and for once in your ife you’re completely and utterly shocked.

“Jake?” you ask, and the taller boy literally falls down on top of you, a small trickle of blood coming out of the side of his mouth. You’re very much aware that it’s your blood that’s dribbling down his chin. He’s still cackling like nothing’s ever been funnier than… well, whatever he’s laughing at.

It doesn’t take you more than a second to realise he’s gotten high off your blood.

“Oh my god,” you mutter as he starts to lose his breath from laughing too much. “Okay, dude, time to calm down.”

“Dirk,” he chokes through his giggles, “Dirk, it’s just so –” He buries his face in your neck, his laughter shaking his whole body. You smile and rub his back, waiting for him to stop. It takes a little while, but after a few minutes, he manages to cool himself down. Hiccupping, Jake props himself up on his hands and looks down at you, grinning with his fangs still out. He looks like he came straight from the wild – which, yeah, he did, so it’s not that unexpected.

Jake sighs happily above you, and your heart skips a beat at the sound. Damn it, you’re so fucking gay. “Ah, my Di– my boy,” Jake mumbles, looking into your eyes as he speaks. You’re trying so hard to not look at his lips and study the curve of his cupid’s bow and the way his bottom lip is a little thicker than his top, but even though his eyes are goddamn mesmerising, it’s a little difficult when he’s so close to you.

“At your service, sir,” you say mockingly, and he giggles again, falling to the side and off the bed. You look over, and he’s still laughing, his hands covering his face. God damn it. Why does he have to be so _cute_?

In the end, you slip down onto the floor with him and you end up staring at the roof and listening to him chatter about nonsense until he falls asleep. At first you’re a little unsure as to how you’re going to put him in your bed when you’re still high and he’s so heavy, but you manage, picking him up bridal-style and gently setting him down on the mattress. Somehow, the process leaves you feeling a little strange, but you still end up crawling underneath the blankets next to him.

Somewhere in the night, your arm ends up around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it turns out that I didn't finish the entirety of the fic last night, because I managed to somehow scull an entire bottle of schnapps in 10 minutes and fall asleep by 11pm. Sorry about that.   
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, anyway! It's very fluffy and silly, but I needed a little break at the time from all the drama in the fic, and I figure that you readers might, too. ;}  
> Thanks so much for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and you’re starting to feel a little worried about your best bro.

Dirk has been acting rather strange since you both decided you’d feed on him regularly for the sake of your health. You’d have thought all the wounds peppering his inner thighs would have turned him away from the idea, but lo and behold, he seems to actually enjoy it. It’s not going to be long before you run out of places to bite him, and you’re not going to drink from his neck again.

And then there’s the fact that he’s constantly encouraging you to feed on him.

When you first started drinking his blood on a regular basis, he’d been more lenient, even shy about it. He’d only ask you when he knew it’d been a long time since you’d fed on him, or he’d remind you the day before you were due to meet up. More importantly, he wouldn’t try to talk to you about it. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you hate the concept of vampirism. You’re tired of it. You don’t really wish that you were a human, per se, but you do wish that you hadn’t been born a bloodsucking leech sometimes.

Lately, Dirk has been less shy (which is good) and more encouraging (which is bad), not to mention that he seems so eager (which is very, very bad). As opposed to when you first started, Dirk seems to openly look forward to your coming over every once a week. Once or twice, he’s even tried to convince you to drink from him a couple of times a week, but you were not and are not having any of that. It’s bad enough that you’re drinking from him in the first place.

If you’re honest, you’re getting a little tired of it.

It’s not like it’s hurting you, really. It’s embarrassing, yes, and a little awkward for you sometimes, but it’s not causing you harm. All you’re afraid of is the harm that it could be causing him.

You were learning about your species for your whole life up until Grandma died. Somehow, you never got to the part about drinking from humans, and now that you’re faced with the potential issue of your bite being addictive to humans, you have absolutely no shitting clue what to do. You can’t exactly ask him to stop – as much as you despise it, you do need fresh blood, or you could be facing a very slow death by starvation. Dang it, why does everything have to be so _complicated_?

Your current train of thought all started because of a text you received this morning from the man himself. You’ve read and re-read it several times since you got it.

**To Jake:** Bro. Feeding time. Tonight at 6. Let’s get fuckin’ sloppy.

You’re not quite sure what that means, but heavens to Betsy, you hope he’s not being lewd.

It’s another thing you’ve been concerned about recently. Not only has he been trying to make you drink his blood, he’s also been making ironic sexual advances. It’s nothing too severe – a hand gently rubbing thigh while you’re watching a movie together, a whisper in your ear when you’re out and he thinks of something lecherous to say – but it’s enough to make you consider kissing him and maybe touching him just a little. Just thinking about it makes you feel sick. He’s your bro. You’re a gentleman. You can’t think these things about your best friend and be a gentleman at the same time. It makes no sense.

You’ve just been a fricking pit of anxiety lately, and it’s really eating at you.

Sighing heavily, you get up from where you were lying on your bed and make your way over to the small bar fridge in your room. You make sure to keep some human food in the fridge that came with the apartment – mainly for your friends, somewhat to keep up appearances – but you invested in a bar fridge within your first week of having moved in. You keep your blood in opaque bottles, and if someone asks what it is, you just wink at them and explain that you like to drink a different juice every day, and keeping them in small bottles is easier than trying to fit the huge juice cartons in the fridge. You’ve gotten a couple of weird looks for it, but you don’t mind. They can keep thinking you’re eccentric – in fact, that’s exactly what you want them to think. You’re just an eccentric, human jungle boy. You don’t know what you’d do if anyone but Dirk found out about your vampirism, and quite honestly, you don’t want to find out.

Opening your fridge, you reach in and pull out the nearest bottle of blood. You sniff it after you open it, and it smells… alright, you suppose. A little bitter and tangy, and you’ve never really liked the taste of beasts with trotters, but you’re moderately hungry, so it’s probably about time you consumed something. You don’t want Dirk to suffer for your clumsiness in forgetting to eat.

You make your way out of your room to the microwave. Cold blood is absolutely abhorrent, and anyway, it won’t sustain you for long. You found out long ago that it actually causes some damage to your heart and blood vessels when you got lazy and decided to feed on the corpse of a slaughtered centaur. You shudder at the memory of it. Never again.

After you’ve finished heating it up, you take a swig, then frown, shrug and down the whole thing in a few swallows. You don’t really enjoy drinking re-heated pig’s blood. It’s not as nutritious as drinking from a living being, and it’s certainly not as delectable.

Dear god, did you just call blood delectable? What is wrong with you?

Gritting your teeth, you move over to the sink and begin to rinse the inside of your bottle. Maybe you should try thinking of something casual and calm for a little while,  or at least try your best to stop thinking about blood. Now that you’ve eaten, though, you should be okay.

You’re daydreaming with your hands under the lukewarm water (you’re absolutely fine with running water; you don’t understand where these people on the internet get these vampire myths from) when you’re startled by a loud knock on the front door.

“Hello?” you call clearly, your voice carrying through the living area to the entrance. You’re immediately greeted with the rattling of your doorknob, and you shake your head in resigned amusement as a familiar voice sounds through the door.

“Got a pizza here for Jake English,” Dirk drawls loudly, and you snort as you make your way over to the door.

“I ordered no such thing!” you tell him sternly, and the doorknob rattles again. As soon as you’re certain he won’t reply, you unlock the door and swing it open. Dirk’s standing there in one of his usual get-ups – a black shirt with a hat on it, some black jeans and some red, blue and white shoes – and before you have a chance to say hello, he saunters inside. You’d protest if his shoulders didn’t look so stiff. For now, you settle for rolling your eyes and closing the door behind him. You’re rather confused, actually. He drops in like this all the time, but only when he wants something from you, and you’ve just fed, so it can’t be that.

“So,” Dirk says as you turn around and look at him leaning against the kitchen counter, “you wanna suck my blood?”

Your mood drops completely. So it _can_ be that.

“Why?” you grumble, even though he just grins at you. “We aren’t due for another few days, mate. Surely your thighs are still healing from last week.”

“They are,” the other boy replies, shoving his hands in his back pockets and staring you down. “But I need to make sure you’re not starving yourself refusing to drink that pig’s blood. You never replied to my message, you know,” he adds, one eyebrow raising a little above the right side of his glasses. “I thought you’d died or some shit.”

You sigh heavily and start rubbing your temples. You can’t get headaches – your body doesn’t actually allow for physical pain aside from hunger – but you’ve seen people do it in movies to express their frustration, so you figure you might as well send a message. “I can’t die,” you say slowly, a little arrogance in your voice. “I’m immortal, under certain circumstances. You know that full well, buster.”

“Man, don’t you know what a joke is?” Dirk inquires, grinning slightly. You don’t return the gesture, simply glaring at him until he stops and turns his head to the side, shifting his weight onto his left leg. “Dude, I don’t know if you’ve eaten or not. You haven’t mentioned it for a few days. I thought you might be doing the same shit I used to do.”

You take a sharp breath in. Oh, bloody hell. Of course he was worried. He’s always worried about everyone else’s food intake, as though he feels the need to protect everyone else from what he went through.

“I…” you begin, trying desperately to figure out what the dickens to say to that. “Listen, I’m honestly not hungry. I just drank a full bottle. If I was hungry, I’d be – what are you doing?”

Dirk is stepping closer to you, and you can tell even through his glasses and his poker face that he’s kind of grimacing. “You look paler than usual,” he says, and there’s a seriousness in his voice that you very rarely hear. “I don’t think I believe you, bro.”

You gape at him. Is he serious? You just fed! “I’m not paler than usual!” you protest, knowing even as you’re saying it that it sounds far too defensive and he’s definitely going to think you’re hurting yourself. You take a deep breath as he looks at you with obvious concern on his face, and try again. “I’ve got the bottle in the sink. I just washed it out. Here, mate, I’ll show you.” You walk over to the sink and pull out the empty bottle. “See? No problem!”

Dirk’s mouth is set in a hard line, and he crosses his arms. “How do I know you weren’t just doing dishes?” he inquires, and bloody shitting hell, you know he’s only doing it because he’s worried about you but he’s really getting on your nerves right now!

“I don’t need to do dishes when you lot aren’t here!” you say obstinately, placing both your palms flat on the counter. “Why would I be washing out a bottle if I hadn’t just used it?!”

He looks at you for a second, then turns his head away, his posture becoming a little more slumped. “It could’ve gone rotten,” he mumbles. “Clotted or something. Or you could have just poured it out to watch your fucking sustenance go down the drain.”

“Why would I –”

“Why wouldn’t you? I used to,” he says coldly, turning to lean against the counter again. “Did that shit all the time. Fuckin’ awesome feeling, making a wreck of what you’re supposed to shove down your throat. I assumed you wouldn’t understand, but fuck knows, maybe you do.” He pauses, then continues, a hint of anger creeping into his tone. “I’m just trying to make sure you keep fucking living, man. I don’t care if you make me your personal goddamn pincushion. I…” Dirk’s voice trails off as you move around the counter to stand next to him, your hip against the bench.

“I refuse to make you a bloody pincushion, Dirk,” you say quietly, and you can see his jaw clench.

“Just fucking bite me already,” he mutters, and now you can feel your own jaw growing tight.

“No,” you say outright, glaring at him. “I won’t.”

“You need to drink,” Dirk retorts, turning so he’s facing you now. “You’re probably starving –”

“I fed about five minutes before you walked through this door, thank you very fucking much!” you say haughtily. His fists are clenching now.

“Drink me,” he growls, stepping  closer to you so that you can see his eyes. They’re almost as measuredly cold as always, but you can see desperation in his gaze and the way his body is all tight and wound up. “You gotta fucking feed on something real, you can’t survive like this.”

“I won’t feed on you!” you say firmly, trying to be as gentle as possible knowing that he’s just doing what he wanted someone to do for him when he wouldn’t eat. “I’ve already eaten. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go have some more pig’s blood. We’re not due yet.”

“Dude, I’m literally begging you to bite me,” Dirk says scathingly, a very sight tremor in his voice. “You’re a bloodthirsty monster and I’m the one person who’s obliging your needs. Might as well just fuckin’ take me.”

Bloodthirsty monster? What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he trying to make you angry? You stare at him, and you kind of feel like you’re hungry, but instead of a burning in your throat, you feel a fluttering in the pit of your stomach and God you just want him to shut up.

So you kiss him.

It doesn’t last long – his arms are still crossed and you’ve got one hand on the counter and your glasses clack together – but in the few seconds it takes before you pull away, you note the softness of his lips against yours, how they open just a little for you.

You don’t pull back much, really. Just enough so that you can see his face, what expression is on it. This close, you have an even clearer view of his eyes, and they betray the stillness of his face. He’s staring right at you and he’s actually got the grace to look surprised. You can’t tell if he’s faking it or not, but you want to surprise him even more, so instead of backing away like you usually would, you move closer to him. First you remove his glasses and lie them on the counter, then you do the same with your own. Gently taking his hands, you slowly uncross his arms and lower them, intertwining your fingers between his, and then you meet his lips with yours again. He’s still for a moment, but as you open your mouth a little he seems to shift his whole body, and he releases your hands to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you close and licking your bottom lip as he does so. You push forward gently, just enough so that you take a couple of steps back together and end up against the wall with your hands at his hips. You’ve decided that it’s nice, kissing Dirk. It’s pleasant, and you don’t want to stop, and you won’t until he stops kissing you.

As you think this, he presses your body a little closer to his and suddenly but softly bites your bottom lip. You freeze up a little. You’ve never been bitten before. In fact, you’ve never even been kissed before. Is this normal? Is he trying to tell you to leave him alone? You move your head away from his, but it’s only a moment before he glares at you, slides his hand into your hair and pulls your mouth back to his again.

You feel yourself beginning to shake a little as Dirk bites you again, and you decide it must be normal, because it feels lovely and you don’t quite want it to stop. You slide your hands to the back of his shirt, pushing it up a little as you do and feeling him shiver slightly. He suddenly starts kissing you deeper, harder, and his tongue flicks in and out of your mouth until you get the message and meet it with your own. His hands slide down your back, which feels spectacular, and then they cup your buttocks, which feel so new and marvellous that a small noise escapes your mouth and you grind against his hips slightly.

Then you realise what you’ve done, and you freeze.

It takes less than a second for you to pull away and stumble back away from him, and for just an instant you think he looks hurt before his face goes completely neutral and he whips on his glasses again. The smirk on his face is infuriating, embarrassing, utterly terrifying.

“No homo, bro,” he says sarcastically, raising his eyebrows at you. You feel a lump rising in your throat. You don’t hear what he says next, because suddenly you’re running to the bathroom, locking yourself in and tucking yourself in the corner next to the toilet as you hear Dirk approach and knock loudly. You’re crying, but there’s no way in hell you’ll let Dirk hear that.

In fact, there’s no way in hell that you’re ever, _ever_ kissing Dirk Strider again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man oh man, have I been busy. I can't wait to show you guys all my hard work!  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and everything is completely fucked.

It would have been ok if you hadn’t kissed him back. You’ve been telling yourself that for the past two weeks, over and over again. It would have been ok if you hadn’t kissed him back.

Fuck, you can’t believe yourself.

Not only did you kiss him back like you didn’t ever want to taste anything other than his lips. Nah, that just wasn’t good enough for you. You had to make it ironic. Couldn’t face the facts. Couldn’t just tell him how you feel about him and be on your way. You had to fucking hurt him.

At the time, you didn’t even think about what you were saying. You were too focused on the taste of his lips – the steely flavour of blood was there in his mouth, you should have known he wouldn’t lie to you – and how good it felt to have his body against yours. You just kind of said the first thing that popped into your head, and it came out sounding like you _hated_ him. No wonder the poor fuck had run the hell off and locked himself away. You’d knocked on the bathroom door for a little while, calling out his name and asking him to come out as kindly as you could, but you figured after about five full minutes of complete silence from his end that he didn’t want you around and that he wanted you to fuck off and leave him alone. So you did, and then when he didn’t contact you, you waited.

And you kept waiting.

And now here you are, two weeks later, and you still can’t get over that shit because you’re a fucking asshat and you don’t know how to do anything right.

You’re moping on the couch in front of the TV like you do most of the time that you’re not at work when you notice that your twin brother is approaching you. God damn it. You really don’t want to talk, and he looks like he’s itching for a feelings jam. But you can’t bring yourself to protest, and as he flops down on the couch next to you, it’s easier for you to just accept your fate than try to fight him off.

“Sup?” Dave asks casually, looking over at you for a moment then turning his gaze back to the TV.

You consider blowing him off, but you know he knows something’s up, and you really can’t be fucking bothered dancing around the subject. “Guy stuff,” you say resignedly, scratching your head. “Gay guy stuff.”

“Jake?” Dave’s still looking at the TV.

“Yeah.”

“What’s up?”

There’s a short pause as you try to condense it. How can you say this? So much went down, and even though your memory is totally clear, you still can’t seem to get a hold on what happened. You sigh heavily, then begin to speak quietly.

“He kissed me,” you begin, and then you quickly lose your train of thought because _he kissed you_. You blink several times and try your best to get back into it. “And I kissed him back. And I said something stupid, and he hasn’t talked to me since.”

Dave is looking at you now, one blonde eyebrow raised. “You think I believe that’s all that went down?” he says sceptically, and you huff through your nose. “Why’d he kiss you?”

“I kind of…” You grimace. “I was worried he wasn’t eating. I went over and I said some stuff. He probably just wanted to shut me up.”

Dave whistles through his teeth. “Man, you gotta stop worrying about how everyone else eats,” he says, not unkindly. “Not everyone’s tryin’ to kill themselves slowly. ‘Specially not that dude. Got too much zest for adventure, y’know?”

“Yeah,” you reply, shrugging. You don’t say anything more because you don’t want to talk about how you were two years ago. You don’t want to think about how everything fell out of control after Mom died and your eating was the only thing left that you had power over. You don’t want to know how much hell you put yourself and everyone around you through, passing out whenever you got the guts to move around and refusing to eat even when your brother was begging you to and getting so thin you couldn’t lie down without your spine pressing directly against the mattress and aching like a motherfucker. You don’t want to remember how much you loved it.

And you certainly don’t want to think about the fact that Jake’s not talked to you or fed from you in two weeks now, and how it’s your fault entirely.

“Dave,” you mumble, trying not to let your rising panic creep into your voice. “If I… Was I wrong to get worried about him? Should I let him… Should I just leave him alone? I know he probably hasn’t been eating right, but is that even my business? I mean, he tried to help me when I was… And I just got mad at him. Maybe he really isn’t eating. Maybe that’s why he’s so mad at me. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. What the hell do I do now? Should I –”

“Dude, it’s okay,” Dave says, frowning and putting his hand on your shoulder briefly to steady you. You hadn’t realised you were shaking until now, and you do your best to stop. “If you’re that worried, go talk to the guy. If you can’t talk to him, chill with him. If he doesn’t want you around, he’ll tell you. We all know Jake’s pretty fucking notorious for not replying to texts,” he adds as you open your mouth to protest. “You can’t rely on that shit. Go to his damn house, bro. Knock the shit outta that door. Comfort the everloving fuck outta the dude. He’ll be fine, but not if you keep avoiding him.”

You barely have to think it over before you realise that yeah, he’s probably right, texting is fucking stupid and impersonal and it’d help him more to go see him than to ignore him entirely. You take a moment to compose yourself, then you get up off the couch (a little too quickly; Dave is staring at you) and go to grab your keys from your room. He’s definitely right. You need to talk to him before it’s too late, before you fuck everything up even worse. On your way out the door, you stop and look back at Dave, who’s looking completely lost.

“Thanks,” you tell him, and he blinks and nods at you before you turn and practically run out the door.

 

\--

 

When you get to Jake’s apartment building, you’re relieved to find that the lights are on in his flat. You don’t think you’ve ever climbed the stairs so fast. When you get to the door, though, you hesitate. What exactly are you going to say to him? ‘Sorry I kissed you back and said no homo, please don’t hate me, also feed from me because you haven’t in a long time and I’m worried about you?’ No fucking way. You can’t say that. You end up spending several minutes at his doorstep, waiting for something to come to you. In fact, you spend a long-ass time there fretting over what the hell you’re going to tell him. You’re just thinking of turning around and going home when suddenly, the door opens and there’s Jake right in front of you, garbage bag in hand, looking completely astounded as he stares at you.

You crack first.

“Jake,” you say hoarsely – why is your voice so weird? – and take a step back. You take a deep breath, doing your best to keep your cool. “What’s up?”

There’s about three seconds’ complete silence before Jake drops the garbage bags, closes the distance between the two of you and wraps his arms tight around you, lifting you up off the ground with the force of his hug. You feel a laugh bubbling up in your throat, and before you can stop yourself, you’ve got your arms around him and you’re chuckling even as he sets you down and claps his hands onto your shoulders like nothing happened and you’re best friends like always.

Just best friends.

The laughter dies in your throat as you look at him properly, and you can see that he isn’t starving, but he still looks hungry, and as you meet his eyes again you can see that he’s sad and tired. You swallow your guilt down and smile at him as genuinely as you can.

“You gonna invite me inside?” you ask, and he jumps slightly, as if you’ve interrupted him in his train of thought.

“Yes, um… Yes, of course!” he says, laughing nervously as he picks up the garbage bag and moves inside to let you through. “Come on in, old chap!”

You enter his apartment, and… you don’t really know what you were expecting. It’s just the same as always: as cluttered as it can be with the few belongings that Jake has. You guess he had to keep up the housework for his rent inspections, but part of you was kind of hoping he was in a mess so you could swoop in and save him. But that’s fucking stupid, and you don’t want to think that because that kind of thinking is for assholes, so you stop thinking about it and pay attention to Jake instead.

He’s sitting on the edge of his sofa, looking at you like he’s disappointed and upset. You feel a coldness in your gut, but you know you need to talk to him, so you shove it away to deal with later and look him dead in the eye.

“Hey, we gotta talk,” you tell him firmly. “About… a lot of shit.”

Jake sighs. “If this is about what happened last time you were here…”

“It’s not,” you promise, and when he looks at you sceptically you backtrack. “Well, yeah. It is. But if you don’t want to talk, I can leave.”

There’s a silence that stretches for about twenty seconds as Jake picks at a loose strand on his couch and you avert your gaze to the floor, the ceiling, your feet, anything but him. Finally, Jake speaks up.

“It’s fine, mate,” he says, so quietly you almost can’t hear it. “I need to talk to you, too. And…” He takes a shaky breath in. “I have to go first.”

Your gut twists as you think of all the horrible things he could be about to say to you. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. “Okay,” you say slowly, barely moving as you shift your eyes from your shoes to him. “Shoot.”

Jake looks at you, looks down to the floor, then seems to steel himself and looks up at you again, his jaw set.

“I suppose it’s about time I told you this,” he says, obviously stalling. You nod him on, and he continues. “I’m not quite sure how to say it. It’s hard. I don’t know quite what to do. But it has to be said. It has to.”

You wait for him to say it, millions of things running through your head. He hates you. He’s in love with Jane. He hasn’t fed since the last time you saw him because he doesn’t want you anymore. He’s too afraid to be your bro anymore. He’s sick of you. He’s moving back to the island. He’s decided that he needs to kill you for his own protection. He’s sick. He’s dying.

“It would seem that I l… like you, my boy,” Jake says quietly, looking at you sheepishly, and your heart just about stops.

This is impossible.

“I don’t get it,” you say simply, and Jake’s forehead creases as he frowns at you.

“What, um… I…” He clears his throat and tugs at his collar as you stare at him. “Dirk, I… like… you?”

“No.” Your eyes are wide as your hand comes to your forehead. “No. I can’t. Don’t.”

“Don’t what? What?” Jake demands as you actually run your hands through your fucking hair, you’re so stressed, this isn’t what you wanted, you can’t do this, no, no, no!

“This isn’t how anything was meant to go!” you whisper, your throat tight with panic. You’re breathing uneven, but you barely even notice. You vaguely note Jake getting up off the couch, and when you see his hand coming toward your shoulder, you jerk away, your hands making fists in your hair.

“Dirk. Dirk! What’s happening?” Jake is saying, but you can’t hear him properly, the blood is rushing through your ears and you think you might be having a panic attack and fuck, you gotta sit down or you’re gonna keel over. You sink to your knees like you’ve been punched in the gut. He can’t like you. He can’t. He cannot. It’s impossible. Why would he like you? Why? It must be because your blood tastes good. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

As soon as you think that, you start to calm down and notice the things around you. Like the fact that you’re on the floor wheezing, and Jake’s next to you looking terrified, and you’ve made a complete fucking mess of your hair.

“Aw, shit,” you mutter, and you look up at Jake, who’s openly gawking at you until you look at him, at which point he shuts his open mouth and leans back a little.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“Yup,” you mutter. Your head is still swimming, but you’re cooling down rapidly. “You like me, huh? It’s ‘cause of my blood, right?”

“I – Dirk, _no_!” Jake whispers, and he sounds absolutely horrified. “No, I – that’s not true at all!”

You stare at him, your entire body feeling cold and numb. You can feel your chest constricting again, but you’re determined not to panic this time. You have to listen.

“Good gravy, Dirk, I truly didn’t mean to frighten you off,” Jake says carefully, looking you in the eye. “All I wanted to do was tell you the truth. I’m afraid, to be very honest with you. I’m afraid of… liking you, because… I don’t want things to get complicated between us. I’d like it if you stayed in my life, because I... well. Yes.” He clears his throat and looks away, his cheeks a little darker than usual. “I wanted to know if you liked me too, because… you kissed me back, chum.” Now he’s really blushing, but then again, you can feel the blood rushing to your face too. For a few seconds, you start to panic again, feeling your Strider coolguy attitude cracking right down the middle. But then you give the fuck up, because you’ve already had a panic attack in front of this guy, and how much worse can it get?

“Man, I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” you tell him, grinning, and he looks up in surprise at the tone of your voice. Your heart is racing in your throat, but if you don’t say it now, you never will. “Jake, I… I – oh my God –”

You stop being able to speak as a laugh busts out of your mouth, and very quickly you find yourself in a fit of hysterics on your best friend’s carpet, giggling and gasping for air like a kid who’s just made his first sex joke. You hear Jake’s nervous chuckling and it just makes you laugh harder, to the point where you can’t get enough breath in and you’re curled up with tears running down your face.

“I – pff – I love you,” you choke out at one point, and you’re not sure if Jake heard you, but later when he’s kissing you, you find yourself hoping that he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing the fic! So I'll just be posting the rest of it all at once.  
> In other news, I'm planning quite a few Davekat fics. Please stay tuned!  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and things are finally going your way for once.

It’s been a month since you confessed your (albeit confusing) feelings to Dirk, and although he took it terribly initially – you never knew Dirk to have that sort of extreme reaction in him – he seems to have gotten used to the idea of you. He still looks dazed sometimes when you hold his hand or kiss him, like he’s trying to figure out what on earth is happening and how it’s happening to him, but lately it’s been occurring less. You hope one day that it stops altogether.

You’ve been feeding on him more regularly in the past few weeks, but it’s mainly because he’s told you he enjoys it and you’re less shy around him now. You only take a little blood twice a week these days, as opposed to taking a moderate amount of blood once a week. The biggest problem with it is that sometimes his wounds split open if he’s not careful, and if he’s not wearing black jeans it’s a little difficult to make excuses for. Luckily, the chap never seems to wear anything but black jeans, so it’s been fine so far.

Usually today would be one of your friend date days, wherein you, Dirk, Roxy and Jane would all go out somewhere relatively cheap and easily accessible and hang out til you all ended up asleep at one of your houses, but on this particular occasion you feel you’ve had quite enough social interaction for one week, and so you politely declined Jane’s request to go to her apartment and watch a few comedies in favour of spending the evening alone in your apartment, messing about on your computer and having a grand old time on your own.

Unfortunately for you, however, you’re all out of pig’s blood, and you didn’t drink anything yesterday because you thought you’d be seeing Dirk tonight. Not without grumbling about it to yourself, you head out of your apartment building onto the street where you begin your ten minute walk to the butcher’s shop. It’s a rather boring walk, so instead of paying attention to your surroundings, you pull your phone out of your pocket and begin to text.

**From Jake:** Hello my fine friend! How are you today?

**To Jake:** I’m well, Jake, thank you. How are you?

**From Jake:** Im doing quite swell thank you very much! I say jane im really sorry i cant make it tonight, its just that ive been so busy lately and i thought i could use a bit of a break.

**To Jake:** That’s fine! I don’t mind. After all, I did only see you a couple of days ago.

You’re not sure how to reply to that without sounding awkward, so you simply don’t, knowing that your friends won’t give you a boot up the arse for it unless you make the mistake of not replying for days on end. You can’t help it, really. You just get so distracted, and then by the time you see their messages, it’s either too late to reply or they’ve already gotten annoyed at you. Tired of talking for now, you put your phone back into your pocket and continue your walk to the butcher’s.

When you get there, you’re surprised to find another customer standing outside: a short, bald man who looks to be around the same age as you. As you walk past him, he glances up from his phone and stares at you openly. You smile politely at him and push open the door to the butcher’s shop. The butcher – he refuses to give you his name, no matter how many times you ask him – doesn’t look at all shocked to see you. In fact, as soon as you walk in, he turns and walks to the back of the shop, into the big freezer where he keeps all his meat and blood. You’re still waiting for him to come out with the frozen pig’s blood when the door opens behind you, and when you turn to look, you see that the man from outside has entered the store. Not only that, but he’s quite visibly glaring at you, and it’s making you very uncomfortable.

“Um…” you mumble, grinning nervously. “Hello there.”

“What’re you doing here?” the man demands, and you flinch a little at the anger in his rough, nasally voice.

“I… what?” you ask, feeling your grin starting to get stale and forced. Your forehead feels hot, and you realise you’re sweating.

“I said, what are you doing here?” the man growls, taking a step toward you. You’re beginning to feel a little frightened, and you’re about to take a step back when the man takes a deep breath in through his nose and you realise he’s bloody well _sniffing_ you. You move away from him, horrified, but all he does is laugh loudly at you and walk casually back outside. He walks similarly to your boyfriend, except that it’s less of a confident saunter and more of an arrogant stride.

You really, really don’t like this man.

You hear the butcher clearing his throat noisily and whip your head around to see that he’s got six bottles of iced blood in a bag on top of the counter. You blink a couple of times to get your focus back, wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, and compose yourself, clumsily pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. The butcher waits as you pull out a twenty and hand it over, then you grab the bag, nearly dropping it in your haste to get out of there. You thank him quickly and he grunts as you turn and practically run out the door, hoping against hope that the man who sniffed you isn’t there. But there he is, leaning against the wall again like he thinks he’s some dadblasted cool guy.

Good grief, your luck is awful.

You attempt to just walk past him hastily, but he yells after you. “Hey,” he calls first, and you walk faster. “Hey!” You can hear his footsteps behind you and you get ready to run, but he’s grabbed your arm and he spins you around to face him. You only stumble a little, but it’s enough to embarrass you when you really wanted to look tough in front of this douchemuffin. Belatedly, you figure out that attempting to run away from him wasn’t exactly the toughest thing to do. Still, you steel yourself and puff your chest out, preparing for fisticuffs.

“What is your problem?” you ask him, incredulity in your voice as you stare him down. “What do you want?”

“Not to be weird, or make you think that I actually like you,” the man says, and somehow he’s grinning at you while glowering at the same time. “I just smelled something on you.”

“Smelled someth – pardon me, sir, but it’s not very polite to just go around smelling people all day!” you exclaim, and he cackles like nothing’s ever been funnier to him.

“I can’t help it,” he leers, and then his voice drops to a whisper that you can just barely hear. “When I smell another vampire, I just have to make _friends_ with them.”

Your first thought is that you really do not like the way he enunciated the word “friends.” Your second thought is that he just called you a vampire. Your third thought is: panic.

“I don’t know what you think you’re talking about!” you mutter furiously, your hands clenching into fists. “Vampires don’t exist, you utter fucking stooge.”

“Then why are you buying so much blood in so many bottles?” the man smirks, and you grit your teeth. “Making  some of that blood pudding humans seem to think is edgy and fresh?”

“Yes!” you reply instantly, and he laughs at you again. Dear God, this guy is fucking frustrating.

“I’m a vampire too, idiot,” he says quietly, his top lip curling. “That’s why I was saying I could smell you. In particular, I could smell…” He sniffs again, exaggeratedly, and you scowl at him, waiting for him to get this fucking silly malarkey over and done with. “Human blood,” he finishes, and you freeze.

“I think you’ll find you’re wrong,” you say stiffly, through gritted teeth. The man raises his eyebrows at you like you’re a complete idiot.

“You do realise,” he begins, “that I can track down the humans you’ve killed recently just from the smell of your blood?”

Killed? What? “I… I don’t –”

“You must be new around here,” the man says, shaking his head and sneering. “I know you kill to eat. Everyone does. It’s the best way to keep the blood pumping. You drain the heart, and you don’t have to feed for a week. But you know that already.” He pauses. “Unless.”

“Why are you… Just leave me alone!” you snap, and you take a step toward him, but he doesn’t step back. He’s smiling so wickedly at you that you’re actually a little taken aback. You’ve never been leered at like that by anyone before.

“Unless you keep toys,” the man finally says, and you cringe. “Yes… that has to be it. That’s why I can’t smell more than one on you! Oh, my God. You really are a fucking sicko.”

“Shut the hell up! He’s not a toy!” you blurt out, unable to stop yourself. “I only take from him when I need to, and he doesn’t ask me to drink from him anymore! I’m not a bloody monster, damn it!”

“Calm down, loser,” the man snickers, and you realise what you’ve just said and you clap your free hand to your mouth. What in the fucking world is wrong with you? How can you be so dense? You look at the man’s face, terrified of what he’ll do, and you can see a glint in his eyes that makes you want to run.

“Well, I should let you get back to your toy,” he mocks, and you flinch again, unable to rip your eyes from the strange and terrible expression on his face. “I don’t want you to starve. Just remember the last time you drank something so deep you could feel its heart stop underneath you. Just remember, it’s better for everyone that way. You’ll see me again,” the man adds, and your eyes widen in fear. “For future reference, my name is Caliborn.” He grins at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”

You watch as the vampire called Caliborn strolls away, thankfully heading the opposite way to where you need to go. You feel like you’re going to black out from panic. You can’t stop thinking about him calling Dirk your toy, calling you a sicko. You can’t stop thinking that maybe he’s right, maybe he is a toy to you and neither of you know it, maybe it would be best if you just stopped drinking and starved to death.

Worst of all, you can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to have Dirk underneath you, your fangs ripping open his neck, his heart slowing to a stop as you eat him alive.

Trying to shake the thought out of your head, you begin your walk home, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles are white. You don’t know what to do. You can’t talk to Dirk about this, because you can’t stop thinking about drinking his blood and you want to be fully coherent if you talk to him about this. You can’t talk to Jane or Roxy, because they don’t know you’re a vampire. You don’t have anyone else. You have to deal with this yourself, and the thought of that absolutely terrifies you.

You thought things were finally going right. You’d somehow managed to delude yourself into thinking that your relationship with Dirk was sustainable, that you could just keep drinking from him for as long as you were together and it would be fine and you would never be tempted to drain him entirely. For some idiotic reason, you thought you could love him without your vampirism getting in the way.

You were so tragically, obviously wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters are SO much fun.  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you don’t know where the fuck your boyfriend is.

You last saw him two days ago, when you went and picked him up from his house and brought him back to yours for a movie night with Jane, Roxy and Dave. You’d gone from Lilo and Stitch straight into The Strangers, and to your eternal embarrassment, you jumped like a motherfucker when one of the masked people popped up in front of the screen and scared the hell out of you. Everyone had laughed at you, even Jake, but he held you close and rubbed your arm to stop your shaking. Later that night, you’d gone home and let him feed on you, among other things involving his mouth and your body. You should be reeling at the memory of your intimacy with him, but right now, you’re too anxious to remember or care what was happening a few nights ago or even a few hours ago.

You texted him yesterday and had a short conversation about meeting up later that day, but mid-exchange, he just stopped replying. At the time, you thought it was just because he’d gotten distracted or couldn’t think of a way to reply, but when you turned up at his apartment building, you noticed that his lights were off. You were fine with that. When you walked up the stairs and knocked on the door of his apartment, however, you realised that the door wasn’t even locked. That was when you started to worry a little. You’ve taught him by now to lock his door – humans are a lot more dangerous than huge, weird beasts in some cases – but some part of you just figured that he’d forgotten. You entered the apartment and called out his name, but there was no answer. Looking around, you noticed that nothing was any more out of place than it usually was. You assumed he must have gone out, so you made yourself comfortable. After a full hour and a half of waiting, you started to panic.

You’ve been frantically trying to reach him constantly since last night, to no avail. You’ve barely slept. You’ve talked to Dave about it – he’s noticed the way you’ve been pacing around the house pretty much non-stop – but you’re not quite ready to ask Jane or Roxy about it yet. You don’t want them to get scared just because you were being an asshole and worrying about your boyfriend who’s probably perfectly fine. By the middle of the day, though, your willpower has settled at dangerously low levels, and besides, you’re fairly sure that even if you don’t know where Jake is, Roxy’s wily ass may have some idea.

**From Dirk:** Yo. Can I come over?

**To Dirk:** uh

**To Dirk:** im kinda busy rn whats up tho

**From Dirk:** It’s a situation. One that could probably be described as an emergency, if one was so inclined.

**To Dirk:** shit

**To Dirk:** rly????

**From Dirk:** I don’t know yet. That’s why I wanted to come over.

**To Dirk:** yeah sure gimme half an hour tho

**From Dirk:** Sure thing. See you soon.

While you’re waiting, you do a couple of chores around the house, not really focusing on what you’re doing until you accidentally throw one of Dave’s shirts in the garbage as he watches in astonishment. You hastily apologise and take it out as soon as you realise, but the damage is done; you happened to throw it onto some spaghetti sauce that’d been left in there, and it was a white shirt, too. Dave gripes at you for it, but doesn’t linger on the subject as you go and put it in the washing basket for later. Even though you’re distracted, you’re grateful that he doesn’t roast you for it.

After twenty minutes of you stalking through the house repeatedly trying to find things to do, you decide that Roxy should probably be ready to deal with you by now, and you already have your wallet and phone on you when you step out of the door and into the street. It takes you less than five minutes to get to Roxy’s bookshop, and when you get there, you knock on the door a little too hard. You’re rubbing your knuckles when Roxy opens the door, her hair slightly messy and her lips bare of any black lipstick. She grins when she sees you, but you don’t smile back, and after a second her smile fades.

“Come on in, dude,” she says gently, standing aside to let you into the bookshop. You walk inside quickly, shutting the door behind you and taking a deep breath to compose yourself before looking at her.

“I think something’s happened to Jake,” you say, and your words rush out uninhibited by your usual cool demeanour. “He hasn’t talked to me since yesterday. When I went to his apartment, all the lights were turned off and the door was unlocked. Everything in the place looked untouched, so I sat there for a while, but he never came back. I’ve been trying to contact him ever since, but he hasn’t answered, and I don’t know where he’s gone. I’m kinda worried he’s gone off and gotten himself hurt.”

“Dirk, man, you gotta calm down,” Roxy says, and you notice that you’re shaking as she leads you over to one of the soft chairs in the bookstore. You sit down slowly, then bury your face in your hands, belatedly realising that you’re probably going to smudge your glasses like this. You take them off and begin to clean them with your shirt as Roxy speaks.

“Look, I don’t know where he is,” she says, and she sounds sincere. “But I don’t think you should worry about it. He’s lived on an island his whole life with all these weird-ass monsters that I’m guessing he had to kill to survive. He’ll turn up, and when he does, he’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” you reply quietly, then you think of something. “Okay, but what if someone’s seen him coming and going from his house with me? What if they’ve taken him off somewhere to do some awful shit to him because of me? I need to find him. I need to help.”

“Dirk, bud, no,” Roxy says sternly, her hand coming to rest on your arm. You have to admit, the friendly and familiar touch is comforting. “He’s fine. Trust me. He knows how to look after himself. He’s not… Okay, well, he’s kind of a dumbass.” She laughs, and you chuckle softly. “But seriously, he does know how to handle himself. The city isn’t much different from the jungle, probably. Less monsters. Or maybe more.” Roxy winks at you, and you grin a little.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. He’ll be fine. Yeah. Sorry.” You sigh dramatically and slip your glasses back on. “Well, guess I’d better get going. I’ve got everything I need from you. Thanks, bro.”

Roxy laughs as you get up off the chair and head toward the door. “Yeah, right!” she teases, standing up and grabbing your arm. “Come upstairs. You look like you need a drink.”

“It’s barely one o’clock,” you protest as she pulls you toward the staircase at the back of the store. Roxy giggles, turning her head to wink at you.

“You know damn well that doesn’t apply to either of us,” she smirks, and yeah, she’s right, you do need a drink. You ascend to the upper level of the bookshop where Roxy lives, a surprisingly large portion of you looking forward to what’s going to conspire.

 

\--

 

You end up leaving her house at around 1am, having gossiped your way out of topics (she loosens you up enough to tell her about some of the dates that you and Jake have been on, and you eventually coax some sweet Jane facts out of her) and almost stopped worrying about Jake entirely. You think you’d like to go visit him, but you refuse to drive while even remotely tipsy, and while you’re just buzzing at the moment, you know better than to try and drive. So instead, on the way home, you call him. He doesn’t pick up, and a little pocket of dread sits in the bottom of your heart as you call him a second time. No answer. You give up, ignoring the fear in your chest and trying to convince yourself that he’s fine, and spend the rest of the walk home with your hands in your pockets, thinking to yourself that when you wake up in the morning, maybe everything will be back to normal again.

Just as you get to the front door of your house, your phone buzzes, and you feel your heart beat a little faster as you pull it out and see Jake’s name flashing up on the screen. Unlocking the door, you hold it to your ear and press the answer button.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Strider residence. How may I help you?” you drawl into the speaker. All that you’re answered with is heavy breathing. You frown as you push open your front door and turn on the hall light. “Jake?” you ask, concern creeping into your voice. “Hey, man, speak up. I went to your house and you weren’t there. Where’ve you been?”

There is a short, weighted silence, and then you hear Jake’s accent through the phone, and it sounds… different.

“I needed a break,” he says, his voice sounding strangely cold. The tips of your fingers start to tingle. Please, please let this not be a break-up call.

“That’s cool, bro,” you say, trying your best to keep your voice calm. “I figured as much.”

Another quiet period. “Yes,” Jake finally replies, and then you hear his breath hitch before he speaks again. “I… need you to… pick me up.”

“I – hm. Okay,” you respond, carefully choosing your words. Something is definitely wrong. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know – h –” Jake’s voice sounds desperate for a second, but then he suddenly goes quiet again for a little while. “I’m on… Citadel Road. In the butcher’s shop. Please.”

As he speaks, you head to your room and slowly take the katana that’s propped up on the wall, not bothering to think about what might happen if Dave comes to check on you and notices you and your sword are missing. “All good,” you say smoothly, gripping the handle of the sword tightly as you head down the hall and out the door again. “I’m on my way.”

“Dirk –” Jake’s voice sounds terrified, openly and unashamedly terrified before it cuts off entirely. Your heart pounding in your chest, you type in his number and try to call him again, but this time the call goes straight to voicemail.

If there’s anything in the world that could sober you up in less than ten seconds, it’s knowing that your boyfriend is in danger.

You walk over to your car, unlocking and opening the door and shoving your katana in the back seat before starting the engine and buckling your seatbelt. You’re pretty sure you know exactly where Jake is, and you’re not going to waste a fucking second trying to find him.

The drive to Citadel Road takes about fifteen minutes (you’re speeding), but it takes you another five minutes to find the butcher’s shop in question. Every second knowing your boyfriend is in trouble without you to protect him is torture. There was something about his voice that felt like he was being told what to say, which probably means whoever’s with him wants you around too for some reason, but you’ve got a fucking katana and you’re fast as all hell, so you’re not worried about that. Finally, you spot the unlit butcher’s shop sign above a door set in the side of a building, and you park your car a little ways away.

After you reach back and grab your sword, you open the car door and slip quietly out into the night. You shut the door behind you as softly as possible and walk toward the door cautiously. When you reach it and turn the knob, you find that it’s unlocked, and you enter without a sound. You find yourself in sort of narrow hallway with four doors, two set in either wall. The one on the far right has a dim light shining from within, and you begin to walk toward it, your katana held tight at your side with both hands –

Suddenly, there’s a hand on the back of your head, and you don’t have time to pull away before it slams your skull into the wall, making you cry out and causing stars to burst in front of your eyes. You distantly hear someone’s voice calling your name, but then your head’s being smashed into the wall again, and you’re falling, and the last conscious thought you have is that you’ve failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He he he.  
> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and you’re convinced that this is the end.

You can barely even remember how this all began. All you can recall is that at some point in the day, the man you met at the butcher’s shop showed up at your door and convinced you to come out and talk to him. You don’t know how he knocked you out, or how he got you here without arousing anyone’s suspicions, but you remember the past two days very clearly.

When you first woke up, you realised instantly that you were chained to a wall, and you were horrified. What kind of sick, immoral creature would have access to chains that were attached to a wall? More importantly, why would they lock you up in them?

It didn’t take long for the man – you remember now his name is Caliborn – to notice you’d woken up. The moment he looked up at you, a smile tore its way across his face, sending chills down your spine and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

And that was before the torture started.

Caliborn didn’t seem to want to go gung-ho all at once. In fact, as soon as you woke up and started demanding to know where you were, what he was doing, why he was here, he just ignored you and watched you struggle in your chains. You ended up shouting at him, kicking your legs out and thrashing against the chains around your wrists until you realised you were just wasting energy you could use to attack him if he ever released you.

You soon learned, however, that he would not release you.

After you’d stopped writhing with rage, Caliborn had left the room, and you were just wondering what he was going to do to you when he re-entered the room, a small vial in his hand. You could instantly smell the blood, and to your intense chagrin, your fangs slid out immediately.

“Hungry?” he’d asked, and you’d just glared viciously at him, your fists clenching in fury. He’d laughed at your expression, then walked over to you and held the vial in front of your nose. It smelled so unbelievably good, but you could tell it wasn’t animal blood, and the thought of drinking unsourced human blood made you sick to your stomach.

“You know you want some,” Caliborn had said smoothly, waving it gently just beneath your nostrils. “It’s fresh. And I know you haven’t had a nice human for a few days.”

“Fuck you,” you spat at him, and he just smirked at you again. Then, to your horror, he dipped one slender finger into the vial, drew it out, and wiped the blood-covered tip on the underside of your nose. The scent of fresh blood filled your nostrils and you tried to lick it off without even thinking about it. Caliborn watched you with a neutral, almost bored expression on his face.

“I’ll make a monster out of you yet,” he said matter-of-factly, and walked away to sit down on a plush-looking seat against the far wall, pulling out his phone and shifting his focus to it. You hung there, trying not to think about how the blood might taste and how it smelled and how hungry you were, but after what felt like hours of trying to convince yourself that you weren’t starving, you finally gave up.

“E-excuse me,” you called to him, and he looked up, a look of derision on his face. “I think I might… um… take you up on that offer now.”

Caliborn had smiled, a flashing of the teeth that made your heart feel like it had frozen, and gotten up from his seat, walking over to you with vial in hand. You feel a rising sense of simultaneous relief and fear as he approaches, and you actually find yourself leaning your head toward him as much as you can while hanging from a wall, chained by your wrists.

He held the vial just below your mouth, and you could almost taste it. When he slowly moved it closer to you, your mouth let out a soft, terrible whine of pure hunger. Caliborn laughed and took the vial away, watching you the whole time as your eyes widened in fear.

“You’ll have to ask more politely than that,” he said mockingly, and you remember sighing heavily, wondering how you’d come to this, how you’d ever let yourself depend this much on another living being.

“Please,” you mumbled, and he just looked at you like he was waiting. “Please let me drink it. I’m hungry. Please.”

Caliborn had smirked, then slowly brought the vial to your lips. Your fangs had been close to cutting your lip open as you opened your mouth expectantly, eagerly. He’d tipped the vial ever so slightly, and a few drops of blood trickled into your mouth, but then he’d taken it away, and you’d stared at him like he was the antichrist.

“That’s enough for now,” Caliborn had said quietly, grinning as you lashed against your chains and lunged at him as much as you could.

“Please!” you remember yelling, your hands clenched into tight fists as he began to saunter away. “That’s not enough! You can’t do this! Please let me feed! Please, I’m so hungry! PLEASE!” You thrashed and tugged violently at the chains holding you against the wall as Caliborn went through the door and shut it behind him. You knew you were wasting good energy, but you were terrified. You needed blood, and he had it, and he wasn’t giving it to you. You could die like this.

Over the next few hours – you assumed that hours passed, seeing as you didn’t have any way of telling time in this place – Caliborn came back periodically, fresh vials in hand, making you beg for blood. At first, he’d wait until you were muttering incoherently at him before tipping a little blood into your mouth, not enough to feed you but enough to make you want so much more. Then, the next time he came in, he started dripping the blood not into your mouth, but near it. Wiping blood on your chin with his long, spindly fingers with a horrid grin on his face as he listened to you beg. Dripping it on your cheek just where your tongue couldn’t reach it. Placing a little on the tip of your nose so you could smell it but not taste it. It got to the point that you were dry heaving with desperation, and it didn’t stop. You started to tell time by counting the amount of times Caliborn entered the room with a new vial of blood. Everything passing through your head – where is he getting the blood from? Where are you? Why is he doing this? Are you going to survive? – is marred by hunger, but by the ninth time he re-enters the room with fresh blood, you resolved yourself to ask at least one of the questions that’s been weighing on your mind even through the starvation.

He walked up to you, obviously expecting you to beg right away, but you just watched him warily, and he stopped a few steps in front of you. You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the worst, even as your throat burned for sustenance.

“What… Why?” you croaked out, unable to say anything else for your hunger. Caliborn stared at you for a few seconds, looking dumbfounded, and then stepped a little closer to you. You winced as he held the vial up to your lips, and a slimy leer pulled the corners of his mouth wide apart.

“Because,” he said, and you could barely keep your focus as he dripped a little blood on the top of your nose and it trickled down slowly, “you broke the code.” He watched a drop of the blood cling to the point of your nose and you tried your hardest to listen instead of lunging at him like usual. “You have to kill what you eat,” Caliborn whispered in a sinister tone, then laughed as you finally broke and threw yourself toward him, snapping your teeth in a desperate attempt to get to that sweet little vial of blood in his thin, pale hand. You watched him leave with a feeling of horror coursing through your veins. You wanted to think it couldn’t get worse than this, but even then you knew better.

Then there was earlier.

You thought he was just coming in to torture you in the same way: drip blood somewhere on your face or body, make you struggle and cry out and plead for it, walk away laughing as you pined for the taste of blood in your mouth. You were as wrong as you could have been about that.

This time, instead of a vial in his hand, he came with a knife and a beaker.

At first, you were confused and a little delusional from hunger, and you thought that maybe he was going to cut you free from your chains. You’d waited for him to release you, but as he walked slowly toward you, he just flipped the knife in his hand and watched you carefully. He got close enough to touch you, and then he got close enough to cut you, and then you felt the knife slicing through the side of your neck and you froze as he held the beaker to the open wound. You could feel your neck pulsing, feel your blood pouring out of you, and if you weren’t so weak from malnutrition you’d be screaming at him to stop. As it was, you were mumbling at him, words you can’t remember, words you don’t want to remember. When he finally stopped and pulled the beaker away from your neck, he slowly leaned in and started sucking at the wound he’d made. You remember feeling a vague sense of surprise as you felt the skin pulling together again. When he pulled back, the wound was still open and you could feel a trickle of blood coming from the edge of it, but it wasn’t gaping as much as you’d felt before. Dizzy and sick, you gazed at Caliborn with glassy eyes as he stepped back and sloshed the beaker, looking at it thoughtfully.

Then he brought it to his lips and began to drink it.

Even with your limited knowledge of interaction with other vampires, you knew this was wrong. You could feel in your gut that this was bad, this was revolting, this was absolutely abhorrent, but he kept drinking as though it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

The ordeal felt like it lasted hours. By the end of it, you were dry sobbing, not enough fluid in your body to even bring tears to your eyes. He looked at you, your whole body shaking and terrified sounds tearing their way from your throat, and he snickered.

“You taste delicious,” he said softly, and you shuddered violently. “I’ve got another surprise in store for you. Just you wait.”

You didn’t think it could get worse, but then, you didn’t think he’d bring Dirk into it.

You’ve stopped sobbing by the time Caliborn comes back into this hellish room, this time with your phone in his hand. At this point, you don’t care what he’s going to do to you. You’re too far gone to even listen properly to what he’s saying until he mentions Dirk.

The second Caliborn says his name, your head whips up so fast that your neck cracks and you feel extremely dizzy. Trying desperately to regain your focus, you speak up. “What?” you ask, your voice hoarse, and Caliborn is leering at you.

“That’s your human plaything?” he snorts, raising his eyebrows at you. You watch him, a feeling of dread slowly gathering in your stomach.  “You’re so revolting. But I guess you’ll like the idea of talking to him again.”

“Talking…?” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them again to find you’re just as dizzy as before.

“You’re going to call Dirk,” Caliborn says calmly. “You’re going to tell him to come here. And then, you’re going to kill him.”

“NO!” you shout, struggling as much as you can against your chains. “No, I won’t! Fuck you! You can’t –”

“I can keep you alive,” Caliborn threatens, very softly. “I can keep you here forever. Drink from you whenever I please. Starving you until you’re nearly dead, then bringing you back with just enough to keep you alive. And…” He leans in close, smiling with all his teeth visible. “If you don’t kill him, I’ll do it myself.”

Your breath hitches as you register what he’s said. Despite what you want to think, you know that he’ll be able to find Dirk in a heartbeat if he wants to. You also know that if Dirk comes here, and if you manage to warn him enough, he’ll come prepared. Maybe he’ll be fine. Maybe he’ll kill Caliborn and free you.

It’s worth a try.

“Fine,” you tell him, decided. “Call him.”

The conversation that takes place is a stressful one. Caliborn holds the phone to your mouth and uses his other hand to wrap around your throat when you try to warn Dirk about what’s happening, all the while whispering what to say in your ear. You can tell from his cautious, guarded tone that he knows something’s wrong, and that’s enough for you to stay calm and not waste your energy trying to rip the chains out of the wall. He’s coming. He’ll be okay. He’s got his sword, and he’ll kill Caliborn, and he’ll help you.

Caliborn leaves you to wait alone, and it feels like hours before you hear a door outside opening and closing. The door to this room is closed, but you think that there may be several rooms around this one, and it makes you wonder what’s going on in them.

When you hear a familiar voice yell out in pain and then hear something thud loudly, you panic.

“DIRK!” you yell, but there’s no answer aside from another loud thud. You hope to God that isn’t him. You hope he just got surprised by Caliborn and is fighting him now, and that’s what those thuds are. You hope he’s okay. You hope, you hope, you hope –

The door to your room opens, and Caliborn comes in with Dirk’s limp body over his shoulder.

You can instantly tell that he’s bleeding, because you can smell it. A sickening hunger takes hold of you, and you wilt in your chains, willing yourself to be good, be good, you can’t drink from him, you can’t. Caliborn is walking toward you, grinning like he’s a cat who’s just brought in a dead mouse.

“I brought you a present,” he jeers, dumping Dirk on the ground before you. “Time to drink.”

“No…” you whimper, shaking your head slowly. “No, no, no…”

“You have to.” Caliborn is glaring at you. “Or do you want me to kill him?”

“No!” you yell, and it takes all your energy from you. “No,” you say again, weakly. “I… he…” Your thinking is slow and sluggish from hunger, but you still manage to come up with something.

“He needs to be awake,” you say, quietly but firmly. Caliborn looks you up and down, then cackles loudly, and you glower at him as you wait for him to calm down.

“Finally!” he cries, slapping you on the side as if he’s your friend. “You’re starting to learn what it’s like to be a real vampire!” He grins at you, and you don’t look away. You’re determined to outsmart him. “I’ll take him into another room so he can wake up alone and confused,” he continues. “They’re so much more fun that way. Who knew you’d actually turn out to not be a complete fucking idiot?”

He picks up Dirk’s body, still chuckling, and walks out of the room with his usual, infuriatingly casual gait. When the door closes, you allow yourself a small smile, thinking that maybe – just maybe – you might have a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some news: my next fic is going to be a short Davekat college AU! Stay tuned for that, if you're interested.  
> Hey, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	13. Chapter 13

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you think you might have a concussion.

You wake up slowly, your entire head aching and your arms and legs twisted into a hogtie. You don’t struggle straight away, instead choosing to catalogue your injuries as much as you possibly can. Your glasses are missing, and there’s a ringing in your ears. The hogtie is straining your shoulders, neck, and legs. You can feel your head throbbing in pain, and your stomach is roiling, but otherwise you feel pretty much as fine as you can be while hogtied and alone in a cold, eerily empty room. The floor below you is concrete and bloodstained, and though you’re not completely screwed, you know that things are pretty fucking bad.

Now to escape this goddamn hogtie.

It takes you a while, but you manage to make one side of the rope around your wrists extremely tight, loosening the other side and allowing you to slip your hand out. You pull the rope off your other hand and roll onto your back, panting with relief. After you take a moment to settle, you sit up and pull off your shoes, then start untying the rope around your legs. Whoever the fuck tied you up, they’re pretty damn useless. Your little brother has tied you up more securely when he was joking around. As you lay back down on the floor, you make a mental note to find the person who hogtied you and tell them they fucking suck.

Time to figure out a game plan.

You’re pretty sure you’re concussed, and you have no idea where your sword is, so there’s not a lot you can do. When you attempt to stand up, you get very dizzy and nearly throw up, but you force yourself to walk around as quietly as you can in the small, bare room. You manage to get used to walking around – really, so long as you don’t stand still for too long, you’re pretty much fine.

As you slowly pace the room, you start wondering what the fuck you’re supposed to do about this.

You’re luckily not suffering from much amnesia. You remember walking into the butcher’s building, seeing some doors, and being knocked out. And you remember hearing Jake yelling out your name, even though it was muffled. You assume he must have been behind one of the closed doors. You must be behind another one of them. That leaves… three, you think? Three doors that Jake could be behind. Three chances at finding your boyfriend. Three chances at finding the fucker who’s got him and beating him to a pulp. Three chances at getting instantly shot or stabbed when you open up a door.

You’re willing to take those chances if it means you might be able to find Jake.

You look around the room for a weapon, but whoever brought you here while you were unconscious was at least smart enough to take everything that could be used as a weapon out of the room. You guess you could rip one of the pipes out of the wall, but that would take a hell of a lot of energy and strength that you simply don’t have when you’re concussed. You sigh. You wish you had your katana, but whoever smashed your head into the wall would have taken it for themselves. You hope you can get it back sometime soon.

Once you’ve searched the room and found nothing by way of weaponry, you resolve to just use your fists and hope for the best. You figure that there’s not much else you can do to plan this out; you’re on unfamiliar territory, in a fuckload of danger, and you have no weapons. There’s not much else you can do aside from try to find Jake, help him, and escape with both of you still as whole as you can be.

After taking a few seconds to prepare yourself for what could be out there, you open the door just a crack and look out. The place looks to be deserted. You listen for any footsteps or voices, but you don’t hear anything. Satisfied for now, you very quietly open the door just enough for you to slip out, then shut it gently behind you. The click of the door closing feels like it echoes through the entire hall, but you know that’s just your imagination.

You walk quietly and slowly toward the nearest door on the right, your heart thumping embarrassingly hard. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, and while you’re taking comfort in the thought that you _kind of_ know what to do, the sheer suspense of it is really getting to you.

You come to the door and very slowly press yourself against it, putting your ear to it and trying to listen for anything that could be happening in there. Aside from emitting a disgusting smell, the room behind the door seems silent and as safe as it can get. You hesitate for just a second before opening the door about as wide as your foot. You’re greeted a waft of the same strong smell, and you instantly know something is off about it.

Then you see a foot that looks impossibly twisted, and your heart drops. You open up the door slowly, and you stop breathing as a horrific scene reveals itself before you.

The room is cold, colder than the room you were in. It looks about the same in structure; stainless steel counters all around the edges, concrete floor covered in bloodstains, pipes making their way up the walls and through the ceiling.

The only difference is the huge pile of corpses that rests in the far left corner of the room.

In a daze, you walk into the room, unable to rip your gaze from the sunken, rotting bodies. They’re all so pale and shrivelled, even the ones that look fresh. Oh, _fuck_. You stop where you are, about a metre from the pile, and you start swaying on the spot. You feel sick. You feel really, really fucking sick. You’re trying to hold it down, but everything you’ve eaten in the past few days is making its way to your throat, and it’s hard to swallow.

Then you see one of the corpses on the top of the pile twitch, and you stumble back, trembling.

The body moves, its legs curling in toward its torso. You feel yourself going faint as its mouth emits a high-pitched, crackling wheeze, and suddenly you’re on your hands and knees and you’re vomiting up what feels like the entire contents of your stomach, and the body is still making those _noises_ …

You cough jaggedly and scramble to your feet as quickly as you can, making the mistake of staring at the corpses again. For the instant you’re looking, you can see that the moving body’s eyes have flickered open, and they’re staring at you blankly through a living sheet of maggots.

Breathing heavily, you tear your gaze from the sight, ripping the door open and practically running out before shutting it firmly behind you, your whole body shaking with terror and fatigue. You take a few minutes to calm yourself down, clenching and unclenching your fists and trying to breathe as evenly as possible. You think about calling Dave, telling him to call the police, but you know even before you check that they’ve taken your phone.

You really are fucking doomed.

As soon as you think this, you calm right down. You’re fucked. You know you are. You’re going to die here. That’s what’s meant to happen. If it doesn’t happen, hey, so be it, but there’s more chance that you’re not going to be able to escape, and that you’re going to die.

Might as well try to get revenge and free Jake before you do, though.

Completely composed now, you make your way toward the nearest door on your right. Listening at the crack, you can hear heavy breathing and something that sounds like metal parts shifting against each other. Without any further ado, you open the door. If they hadn’t heard you opening doors and throwing up before, they will now.

The first thing you see is a tall, bald-headed guy sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, staring at you openly. He’s got blood speckled on his hands, you notice as you walk toward him.

The second thing you see is Jake, hanging by his wrists from two chains attached to the wall. He looks unconscious at first, but when you say his name he looks up, opening his eyes. They’re glassed over and look… hungry.

“Dirk?” he gasps, and you want to head over to him and let him out and hold him until he’s okay, but you’ve got bigger problems to deal with.

You turn toward the bloodied man, fury swirling in your chest and head.

“Did you do this?” you demand, pointing at Jake. The man smiles at you like a predator and gets up from his chair almost lazily.

“Yes,” he says, nodding at you and then turning to Jake. “Look at this! Your toy has come to find you! He’s awake now. Aren’t you going to do what you said you would? Aren’t you going to –”

He doesn’t has time to finish his sentence before you’ve leaped at him, swinging your fist hard at his face and feeling something close to ecstasy when it connects and makes a violent and wonderful sound. The feeling fades as he begins to fight back, punching and kicking you and making you stumble back. You’re not as fast as usual due to your concussion, so you can’t dodge his hits, but you do your damn best to retaliate, hitting his throat, his stomach, his temple, anything you can get your hands on.

You’re holding your own until he suddenly grabs you by the hair and rips open your neck with sharp fangs.

You cry out in pain and shock, trying to fight him off, but you’re bruised and battered and weak and he’s drinking your blood faster than Jake ever did. You can feel him draining you. You can feel yourself growing weaker by the second. You go limp against him, and he holds you up, and you know he’s not going to stop until you’re dead.

You also know that he’s vulnerable.

You won’t get another chance like this. He’s completely focused on your neck, his entire concentration on drinking your blood. If you fought back with what little energy you have left, you could at least stun him for long enough to help Jake get out of there. You could do something. You could help.

You gather some energy for what you’re about to do, and when you’re ready, you tackle the man to the floor, landing hard on the concrete with a horrifying _crack_.

His teeth got ripped out of your neck in the fall, and you pin him down, preparing to punch him before you realise that there’s blood starting to pool beneath him, and his eyes are closed. He’s still breathing.

So you lift up his head and smash it into the floor as hard as you can.

The man chokes and coughs a few times, his hands flailing, and you do it again, revelling in the sound of his skull cracking on the concrete. You want him dead. You want to kill him. You don’t want to stop until you see his brains leaking out of his fucking body.

You stop when you realise that there’s too much blood everywhere for him to be alive.

You look over at Jake, who’s staring with his mouth wide open and his fangs out – probably because of all the blood. You can see keyholes in the chains from here, and you busy yourself with looking for a key in the man’s pockets. It doesn’t take you long to find one, and your hands are steady as you pull it out. You get up slowly, walking over to where Jake is hanging.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, reaching up to unlock his right hand. “I didn’t know he’d knock me out. I should’ve looked for you sooner. I should’ve brought someone with me, or called the police.” The key clicks in the hole, and the shackle opens and frees his wrist. Jake lets his hand fall to his side, and you’re suddenly aware that he’s hanging by one wrist. Hastily, you move over to his left side. “Sorry, I’ll be quick,” you mutter as you insert the key and turn it. The shackle releases him, and he drops to the floor. He’s shaking. You sink to the floor and take his hand gently. His wrists are red raw and bleeding a little.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” you tell him, right before he pounces on you.

His hands are at your arms, pushing you down into the cold floor, and you’re pretty sure you’re lying in blood when he pierces your neck with his long fangs.

“Jake,” you mumble, trying to shove him off you with weak hands, “Jake, please…” He’s not listening. He’s not listening to you.

He’s going to kill you.

You stop fighting back and let your hands fall to the floor, idly wondering what’s going to happen next. You’ve never really thought about what would happen when you finally died. You figured you’d at least go down fighting, but here you are.

You suppose that at least it’s better than getting your blood drained by a stranger.

As he drinks from you, you sigh and close your eyes. It’s not necessarily painful anymore. Things are surprisingly peaceful, actually. You don’t hurt anymore. The concrete doesn’t feel as cold. You feel like you’re floating, like maybe things are finally going to be okay.

The last coherent thought that passes through your head is that if you become a ghost you’ll have to find a good medium, and then everything fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so fucking sorry.


	14. Epilogue

Your name is JAKE ENGLISH, and you’ve officially turned into a monster.

You’d never killed a human before you killed Dirk. You didn’t know how good it felt.

Once you’d drank all of Dirk’s blood and all that was left of him was an empty white corpse, you didn’t feel anything anymore. You didn’t feel ashamed, or scared, or even vaguely upset. All that happened was that your senses were heightened, your veins were full, and your body felt _good_.

No longer do you live off reheated pig’s blood. You refuse to drink animal blood at all these days. You’re a stone cold killer, and you know it, and you love it.

It’s thrilling, honestly. More thrilling than those silly human movies you used to watch, that’s for sure. Picking your victim. Stalking them. Smelling their blood from afar and knowing what they’ll taste like. Luring them in and then biting into them, injecting what you now know are endorphins into their bloodstream so that they don’t scream out for help. It’s about the only vaguely kind thing you do anymore, and you don’t even do it to be considerate.

Of course, you don’t stay in just one city to feed. You move around constantly under the guise of being a backpacker, burning the bodies you leave behind. While you were still in Texas, you were attacked by a small pack of what you could only assume were werewolves, but you tore through them like they were nothing and went on your way. It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing is really a big deal anymore, not for you.

You’ve not met any other vampires in your travels. You’re glad. You’ve always been a bit of a loner, and being alone suits you better than being around others. You don’t want to relate to them. You don’t want to know how they kill and what they eat. You don’t care anymore. You’re above that.

Sometimes, though, you remember things.

Once, when you were chasing a young man who smelled like sweets when you saw two of your friends from a lifetime ago. The one with the black hair and glasses was talking to the blonde one like they were planning something. They looked happy, but you could sense the sadness and fear underneath. A surprisingly large part of you had wanted to go and speak to them, but the dominating part of you had been thinking of the delicious meal you were losing in your distraction, and had snapped back into predator mode instantly.

These days, you drink a lot more slowly than you used to. You savour the taste of the blood, even while knowing you can get another meal in a heartbeat. You used to try to convince yourself that you didn’t like the taste of blood, that you didn’t love it when you were able to drink human blood, but those days are long gone now. You can think more clearly now without your mind clouded by your attempts to appear human all the time, and you take advantage of it whenever you can.

You try not to look in the mirror recently.

It’s strange and a little difficult to see yourself the way you are now, to know how much you’ve changed. Your face isn’t as soft, and your teeth are sharper. You don’t smile anymore. Your eyes are darker and more dangerous. Compared to the man you were six months ago, you’re extremely different. When you look in the mirror in future years, having stopped growing and being stuck at twenty years old until you decide it’s your time to die, you’re less jarred by your appearance and more pleased with it.

When you do meet your end, it’s not a surprise to you.

It’s been seven years since you first drained a human of all their blood and felt their heartbeat splutter and then stop completely. You’ve killed countless humans since then, and you’ve sniffed out a new target when the human approaches you.

You’re sitting in a café, watching someone hungrily out of the corner of your eye as they drink their coffee and read their book. Human pastimes are contemptible to you now; you don’t have interests outside of feeding, exploring and burning corpses. You’re thinking that things are starting to get a little… stale. There’s only so much killing you can do before it starts to get boring.

Still, you make a mental note of the person’s scent and decide to follow its trail before getting up and leaving the café. You’re just about to start tracing the smell back to their house when someone grabs you.

You whirl around to see a man with dark shades and a familiar set to his mouth staring you down, and you sigh wearily.

“What.” You don’t have time for this. Usually you’d just chase him away, but you’re right outside a café on a busy street, so you can’t.

“I know you’re a vampire, and I’ve got a deal for you,” he murmurs, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“What is it?” you ask, letting a little interest tinge your voice. He lets go of your arm.

“I’m gonna kill you, but I’m gonna make it fair,” he says casually. “Give you a chance to defend yourself. You’re gonna meet me in the alley down the street tonight. We’re gonna fight. If I win, I get to kill you. If you win, you get to kill me. Got it?”

You pause, considering and smelling his blood. He smells similar to the first human you ever drained, if not a little tangier. Your throat feels dry with hunger and nostalgia.

“Fine,” you tell him. “Midnight tonight, the alley down the street.”

“Say your goodbyes, bloodsucker,” the man mutters before you turn away and start walking. You roll your eyes. He’s human. If he’s set on killing you, he’ll do it, but it’ll be hard work, and you’re determined to get blood out of him first.

When you go to the alley that night, you find that he’s already there. He’s holding a broad, heavy-looking sword that glints in whatever light it gets from the street. He’s grinning at you like _he’s_ the hunter, but at this point, you don’t really care what he looks like so long as you can drink his blood.

You find that he puts up a surprisingly good fight, and to your chagrin you find yourself wishing you’d brought a weapon other than your fists and your teeth. He moves so quickly that it’s hard to get near him, and eventually you make the immense mistake of allowing him to stand at your back.

You hear the sword swishing through the air before it connects with your neck, and you don’t really mind. You’ve lived well. It’s about time you got your comeuppance.

You can hear him laughing victoriously as the metal cuts through your throat, and it’s the last thing you’ll ever perceive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A... kind of happy ending?  
> Well, thank you all so much for reading this far in! This is the end of the fic, unfortunately. (Well, fortunately for me. I'm finally free!)  
> I hope you all enjoyed reading it and aren't too unhappy with me. If you think there's anything I should change about the fic, let me know! I'll definitely take it into consideration.  
> Also, if you have any suggestions for what you want me to write, feel free to message me!  
> Thank you all again for your patience and your attention! It means a lot to me.  
> See you all on the next fic! ;}


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